


Take the Bone Away

by WhatTheDog



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action, Body Horror, Bullying, Dark, F/M, Friendship, Gore, High School, Homecoming, Homophobia, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Sexual Content, Threats of sexual violence, Toxic Friendships, Violence, bad language, young adult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-02-27 08:59:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 120,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13244889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheDog/pseuds/WhatTheDog
Summary: For Malcolm Sanders, life has been fairly predictable. He's been in high school long enough to know the ins and outs, that he isn't popular and loneliness is an unfortunate constant. However, things take a turn for the weird after Malcolm's only friend, a foul-mouthed boy by the name of Curtis, gets splashed with a mysterious formula. Soon, he transforms practically overnight—much to his elation and Malcolm's apprehension—and leaves the whole school scratching its head. But as the changes spiral out of control, curiosity turns to horror when disaster strikes, eventually plunging the entire town in danger. With the help of some newfound allies, it's up to Malcolm to put a stop to it and finally find the courage to stand up for himself.





	1. Boys Will Be Boys

**Author's Note:**

> What do you get when you cross bad science with one hell of a victim complex?

He’d only wanted to save Curtis when he walked in, not make everything worse.

Before this disaster, the rest of the day had progressed smoothly enough. Listen in class. Get bored. Daydream about random topics, varying from the absurd to the philosophical: superheroes, movies, an article on bees, how good one of his classmates looked in that pair of jeans— _oh no, think about something else, less exciting, quick, how about... um... duality_.

As pretentious as he found it, this concept still fascinated Malcolm. It intrigued him how multifaceted people could be, how they could behave in context to a scenario. He liked thinking about inner demons and soft sides and everything in-between.

Therefore, when Curtis showed him the horror manga several minutes prior to the botched rescue attempt, Malcolm’s disappointment surprised them both.

“The monster design is cool,” he said, frowning at the black-and-white illustrated pages of the book, “but it's very... well...”

“Well, what?” Curtis closed his locker door and straightened to his diminutive full height, creasing his eyebrows. He stared intently at Malcolm's face. “How are you not into it? Like, seriously”—he stabbed at the page—“that's a fucking creepy scene right there.”

“Yeah, it is, but why... why does she have to be naked?”

Curtis scoffed. “Dude, she's turning into a _monster_. I don't think clothes were the first thing on her mind. Also, it states right before that the potion makes her really warm. She probably doesn't want to wear them.”

Malcolm also pointed at the first page of the transformation sequence. On it, a sweaty girl with glazed eyes arched her back as her tongue lolled in her open mouth. “Does the potion also make her want to do that?”

“Oh my God!” Curtis sighed. “Fine, you win. Yes, there is _fanservice_ , but it doesn't make it bad! You don't have to get all Puritan on my ass.” He pulled the manga out of Malcolm's hands and stuffed it into his backpack. “But you gotta admit,” he said, zipping the bag, “that's a pretty good find for a dollar. The art is amazing.”

Malcolm nodded. “All right, yeah, the art is really good. Even if it is being used for fanservice.” He grinned, and Curtis rolled his eyes in response.

They slung their backpacks over their shoulders and headed toward the school's exit. Just as they turned a corner, however, a tug on his sleeve made Malcolm jump, and he glanced behind him.

“Hey, wait for me outside, will ya?” Curtis said, jerking his head toward the bathroom. “I gotta take a leak.” He then disappeared through the swinging door, to which Malcolm shrugged.

Outside, Malcolm stood off to the side, watching the other students of Wesley High laughing and gossiping as they made their way toward the bus stop or parking lot. Shifting his weight, he craned his neck, searching for Curtis at the exit.

Several minutes later, as the flow of students slowed, he glowered at the doors leading into the school. _Did the guy fall in?_ Scowling, he walked back inside and retraced his steps to the boys' bathroom.

When the door finally drew near, he paused—cruel laughter and shrieking echoed from within.

His breath hitched in his throat. Those voices... his survival instinct welled up, telling him to let whatever was happening inside play out. It would be over by the time he alerted a teacher. Just run away, comfort Curtis later—don’t get involved.

 _No_. He swallowed his fear. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the door open.

Curtis’ unzipped backpack lay upended by a urinal next to strewn paper towels; then there was Curtis himself. Four sneering guys surrounded him, all of them twice his size. They shouted taunts and shoved him as he tried to break out of the circle. No way he stood a chance. Like monkeys at the zoo, ganging up on the runt—Malcolm’s stomach twisted at the memory. He’d been little when he’d seen it, and the behavior had disturbed him.

" ** _They're just some boy monkeys roughhousing_** ," Mom had explained. " ** _It's just the kind of thing they do. Boys will be boys, you know_**."

Not a very satisfactory answer then, and certainly not now. But at least back then it had only been monkeys. That wasn’t the case here.

"Give it back!" Curtis lunged at the manga book held just out of his reach. “Give it back or eat my fucking ass, Joel!”

The taller boy laughed and tossed it to another guy. "Oh wow, listen to the mouth on tiny here.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Is ass-eating what you use it for?" His lips stretched into a sneer that rooted Malcolm to the floor.

He wanted to intervene, he really did. His brain kept screaming at him to be less of a wimp, to do what he came to do. But he remained frozen instead.

“Eat. My. Entire. ASS!” Curtis reiterated, clenching his teeth and fists. He glared daggers at Joel.

The boy laughed in response. "Aw, I think we made him cranky.”

His snicker earned additional jeers from the circle until Parker—the crony holding the manga—tossed the book back to his leader. He caught it, showing the pictures to his sadistic audience.

None of them noticed Malcolm off to the side, still urging his leaden feet to move.

Joel turned a page, and his eyebrows shot up. "Ohoho... there's tits in this thing!" Throwing his blond head back, he howled with laughter. He wiped the corners of his eyes before flashing Curtis an incredulous smile. "Do you jerk off to this shit or something?"

"Give it back, you fucking dickweed!" Curtis howled, straining for the book with an outstretched arm.

When thwarted yet again, he rushed forward, slamming into the other boy's midsection. This elicited a loud ‘ _oomph’_ and Joel doubled over. Nevertheless, he managed to hold onto the book while Curtis fought and kicked.

From his spot, Malcolm wiped his hands on his pants.

Straightening, Joel pulled his lip back in a snarl. "All right, shrimp dick, you fucking asked for it."

Curtis swallowed and tried to punch him, but Joel caught the fist. He tossed the manga book to another boy in the group. Then, with one sharp ‘ _thwack,’_ he socked Curtis in the mouth.

Fear and anger boiled inside Malcolm. He clenched his teeth.

Curtis let out a gasp, pale hands flying to cover the blood flowing from his busted lip. He staggered.

"Leave him alone!" Malcolm yelled. He finally forced himself to take a step closer, ignoring his screaming psyche and the sweat on his palms.

Joel glanced over and gave a sardonic smile. "Aw, look Curtis! It's your fat fuck of a friend to your rescue!"

The other boys chuckled and made oinking noises at Malcolm, his lower lip quivering even as adrenaline pumped through his veins. Why did he have to react like this? Why couldn’t he be cool for once?

The group weren't the only ones unimpressed. Curtis shot him a glare. "Go away! You're just going to make things worse!"

Joel mock-pouted. "Don't be so mean, Henderson. Your boyfriend is trying to be your hero.” He cast an evil grin toward Malcolm.

A cold rush descended at this, but Joel remained indifferent or oblivious to Malcolm's reaction as his attention shifted back to Curtis. In that same tone of faux concern, he continued, “In fact, just for being so mean—” and looked at the crony holding the manga, making a tearing motion with his hand.

The guy, Dan, nodded and grabbed one of the pages from the book, ripping it out.

Curtis lunged at Joel again. He shrieked like an animal, hands clawing at exposed skin.

Joel smirked in response. Using one arm, he grabbed Curtis' thin ones and pinned them behind his back. He then used his other arm to hoist him upright by his collar.

Malcolm could only gape at the scene, mouth dry as cotton. His voice returned and he sputtered, "I'm going to tell on you!"

As soon as the words left his lips, he cringed internally; even sixth-graders would have laughed at the tattle-tale statement. He didn’t get too much time to dwell on it though. Someone pinned his arms behind his back, rendering him immobile. With his focus centered on Joel, he had missed Parker moving behind him, and his new position mirrored that of Curtis’.

Once situated, Parker made a ' _tsk ts_ _k_ ' sound at his subdued form. "Come on, fat boy. We're just having some fun."

The other boys nodded and let out noises of affirmation while Malcolm struggled weakly.

Looking at his leader, Parker asked, "What should I do with this kid?"

"Just hold on to him," Joel responded, Curtis thrashing in his grip.

Curtis paused his flailing to shift his attention to Malcolm, panting from exertion. "You stupid fuck… I told you not to get involved!"

The boys in the group let out a mocking " _oooh_ " at the insult, and Joel twisted his face into an expression of feigned offense.

"Curtis, your boyfriend was just trying to help!" He motioned for Parker to bring Malcolm closer, after which he turned the furious Curtis around. “I hate seeing couples fight. Now kiss and make up."

Face to face, Malcolm’s blood froze as Curtis' breath fogged up his glasses. Even through the moisture, the proximity showed the small freckle on Curtis’ chin, the gold flecks in his hazel eyes. Scarlet continued to drip from his lip, trickling down his flushed face and leaving messy patterns on the floor. Everything about it made Malcolm want to faint.

Letting out an aggravated growl, Curtis thrashed some more, but Joel held fast. He gave a poisonous smile. "Come on, we'll let you go and give your stupid book back if you do it."

Eyes squeezed shut, Curtis released a shuddering breath. With one swift motion, he smashed his face into Malcolm's, connecting their lips.

In return, Malcolm shut his eyes and grimaced; calling the action a “kiss” felt wrong. All he tasted was blood and saliva before Curtis pulled back to spit on the floor, shooting Joel a glare hateful enough to cause nightmares.

"Happy?"

Joel stared open-mouthed, the corners of his lips curving upward into a grin. "Holy shit! I can't believe you actually fucking did it!"

The other members of the group shrieked with laughter. Parker shook with amusement while tears brimmed Malcolm’s eyes.

"All right, guys, you had your fun. Now a deal's a deal. Let 'em go."

Turning his head toward the noise, Malcolm blinked away moisture to reveal the sandy-haired form of Joel's twin sister, Courtney Scalf. With one hand on her hip, the edges of her mouth turned up as she quirked an eyebrow.

Despite the look, there wasn’t a hint of a question in her voice, but her presence certainly raised some. Had she been there the whole time, and he was just now noticing? Did she just arrive? Either way, he doubted she had trespassed to save them. Not when watching their humiliation always seemed so entertaining to her.

"You're right," Joel said.

Still snickering, he released Curtis while Dan—wheezing and wiping his eyes—dropped the manga and torn page onto the floor. Curtis rushed over and picked them up, flipping them over in his hands to inspect the damage.

Across from everyone, Malcolm stumbled as Parker let him go. Regaining his balance, he turned as Joel walked away with the rest of the group and Courtney following.

At the exit, the boy faced his victims, mouth stretched in a sneer. "Bye, lovebirds!"

The group guffawed and then left the bathroom, their voices fading as they moved farther and farther away. The ordeal was over.

Whirling to face Malcolm, Curtis brushed his brown hair out of his eyes. "What the fuck! Why didn't you leave!?" He wiped his mouth with his hand, spitting on the floor again. His gaze then returned to Malcolm's teary-eyed one, teeth bared in a snarl. "Hope you at least got some enjoyment out of that!"

Malcolm's lip trembled as he sniffled. He concentrated on his breathing. "It's not exactly how I imagined my first kiss to go...”

Instantly, Curtis' expression softened. His eyes lost their fire and filled with regret. "Oh shit... I... I shouldn't have said that...”

Malcolm just sniffled again.

Curtis scuffed his shoe on the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look... it doesn't count if you didn't want it... okay? And... I'm... sorry," he mumbled.

"It's okay," Malcolm whispered.

He didn't feel okay. Anxiety clawed at his insides. What did this incident mean for the future? Joel normally didn't pick on him as much as Curtis, his favorite target. He hadn't been expecting Joel when he went to check on the bathroom. He especially hadn't expected what occurred, the whole nature of the event...

Curtis pointed to his mouth. “You... uh... you got some of my... blood...”

Glancing in the mirror, Malcolm winced at his reflection. His normally brown complexion was still pale from the encounter, and his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen behind his glasses. Spotting the red smear on his lip, he wiped the blood off before returning his attention to Curtis, who glared at the door.

"I just... fuck... he gets under my skin. I hate that fucking guy!" He kicked the trashcan, sending it skidding a couple feet in the other direction.

Malcolm watched in silence.

Having let off a bit of steam, Curtis sighed. He adjusted the elastic tie on his short ponytail, tufts sticking out of his cheek-length hair from the scuffle. Once finished, he turned to face Malcolm, frowning. "At least they stopped when they did. Who knows what would happen if they ever found out you actually are gay."


	2. The One on Top

Joel tormented them mercilessly afterward.

“How’s my favorite couple?” he’d jeer, shoving Curtis into Malcolm as they walked to their lockers. “Remind me again—which one of you tops?”

From there, it always took all of Malcolm’s strength to hold Curtis back.

“Let me go!” he would hiss, elbowing Malcolm in the gut.

Malcolm would shake his head in return, hissing back, “I’m keeping you out of trouble, okay?”

For all his efforts, the only thanks he’d ever receive were a middle finger and a “ _fuck you, fatass!_ ” before Curtis would storm off to sulk. Malcolm would then sigh, shrug, and follow behind. Business as usual.

_But then again, business isn’t set in stone. It never is._

Sitting in History class, Malcolm thought back to the miserable routine and said his usual prayer of gratitude for Joel’s schedule change. Since daily swim practices had started—two glorious weeks ago—the guy just didn’t have the same energy or enthusiasm anymore for his cruelty. Who would have guessed the Varsity team would be Malcolm’s saving grace?

He concluded his prayer, jotting down a vague note about the Spanish Inquisition. What a bittersweet relief that Joel’s actions had returned to pre-bathroom incident antics: picking on Curtis and him only when particularly bored. Truly, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Coincidentally, also the same reason he didn’t care for History. He frowned. Sure, there were interesting aspects, but for the most part, it was a depressing cycle of never-ending misery. Bad things happened, ended, then happened again. Rinse, repeat. At least with Math, some problems got solved.

Mrs. Tunt lectured at the front of the classroom while pencils scratched against paper. Most people appeared lost in thought, including Malcolm. His notebook lay abandoned while he stared out the window, where an elm tree shook its branches in the hazy aura of sunlight.

What a gorgeous day. Unusually warm for late September, but still gorgeous. He couldn’t wait to walk home from school. Hopefully, his _Captain America_ shirt came in the mail. Curtis would probably laugh at him for buying it, but it was worth it.

An image of Curtis, eyes blazing with blood dripping down his face, flashed through his mind. Malcolm frowned again. It was over, so why did it still bother him so much? Even though it happened a month ago, anxiety crept into his consciousness whenever the memory resurfaced, threatening to—

The bell rang, snapping him out of his trance. Chatter filled the classroom as students packed up their bags, and Malcolm joined the line to exit. Next stop, the lunchroom.

Caught in the usual traffic that noon brought, he shuffled toward the senior lockers. After a couple minutes, a small form fell into step beside him.

"What the hell is going on today? Everybody’s moving way freaking slower than usual," Curtis grumbled.

Malcolm shrugged. "Don’t know, but it is pretty bad."

They continued their molasses-like pace down the hall—Curtis complaining the whole way—and then stashed their stuff, proceeding onward to lunch.

" _HOMECOMING 2017! GET READY!_ " screamed the colorful flyers at the cafeteria’s entrance. Several students inspected them before excitedly turning to their friends. Malcolm caught snippets of conversation as he moved forward, most centered around finding a date for the dance. He ignored them and grabbed a tray. He didn't care much for dances; he doubted he could find a date even if he did.

Curtis also picked up a tray and examined the posted lunch menu. "Aw man, fucking meatloaf. That stuff is the worst."

Malcolm nodded along. Truthfully, the meatloaf could have been worse, but it was usually easier to agree with Curtis’ opinions. Even over stupid stuff like the taste of food.

As they moved down the line, a table at the far end of the cafeteria came into sight. Draped over its surface, a tablecloth with bright, glittery letters spelled out, " _HOMECOMING KING + QUEEN NOMINATIONS!_ "

Diverting his attention, Malcolm prodded Curtis to look.

He did and rolled his eyes. "Boy, I wonder who it's going to be. Let me guess... cheerleader, football player, someone on STUCO, maybe a wrestler, and maybe someone on the swim team. They will all be hot and have the personality of a moist croissant."

Malcolm snorted in amusement.

"But let's be real—at the end of the day, it's going to be Adam and Bianca. There's no way anybody else is going to win."

Malcolm nodded again. He actually did agree with that statement. Adam McCollum and Bianca Torres were the closest anyone could get to high school royalty in a small town like Wesley. The star quarterback and captain of the cheerleading squad—together, they were the epitome of a power couple. Or at least, they had been.

"Do you think their break-up will affect their chances of winning?" he asked.

Curtis made a face. "Maybe; I don’t really think it would. Everybody fucking loved them before they started dating. I doubt people are going to change their mind about voting for them just because of some relationship drama. Hell, if anything, it might even help their chances."

"That makes sense," he replied. The student in front of him walked to the next section, and he moved to face the lunch lady.

Once armed with his lunch, he paid and headed for the small table he shared with Curtis. Somebody had stolen one of the chairs again, but it didn’t matter—they only needed two.

Curtis showed up with his own lunch. "So now that Bianca's single”—he set his tray beside Malcolm and sat down—"that also means that Adam is single.” He grinned. “Score for both of us.”

That grin had always impressed Malcolm; it showed off every single tooth in Curtis’ mouth, yet perfectly conveyed its owner's devious side. Heck, he would even go so far as to say it was almost the most impressive grin he knew.

But still not as impressive as Adam’s. Chewing his bite of meatloaf, he thought over Curtis’ words before he swallowed. "I suppose...”

He smiled to himself. It would never happen, but it didn't have to stop him from fantasizing about the hunky jock. Dark hair, great body, award-winning smile, and with the most perfect—

"I'll win over Bianca with my suave nature and devastating wit, and you can hook Adam with your... I dunno... comic book trivia or something."

Malcolm blinked, coming back to reality as the statement interrupted his lewd thoughts. After a second, he wrinkled his nose. "Thanks for pointing out all my best traits.”

Curtis took a swig of _Monster_. "Aw, lighten up. We both know nothing would ever happen in a million years." He mashed his potatoes even further, eyes downcast as a frown spread across his face. "All Bianca cares about is getting some beefcake who can barely rub two brain cells together, and Adam isn't gay." He glanced up at Malcolm, eyeing his figure. "And even if he was... eugh, you're not exactly top-tier material."

A lump formed in Malcolm's throat, and he swallowed the glob of potato in his mouth with some difficulty. As he stared down at his tray of food, his intake suddenly seemed gluttonous. _At least I eat vegetables_.

He spent the rest of the lunch period pushing food around with his fork while Curtis complained about the _Marvel Cinematic_ _Universe_.

"Like, the _Avengers_ movies are so dumb and miss the point for so many freaking things. Yet everyone eats them up. They're literally just more critic-friendly versions of Michael Bay flicks. I don't get it."

Malcolm mixed some meatloaf with potato. "I dunno. _Black Panthe_ r looks cool. I'm pretty excited for that."

"Oh, that guy. I guess. I don't really get the appeal."

 _Of course you don't, you're white_.

He didn’t say it aloud though. He didn't want Curtis to get defensive, so best to leave some things unspoken.

***

The kick sent the soccer ball flying, and Malcolm joined the throng rushing to get it. In the chaos, someone shoved him, leaving him sprawled on the floor.

God, he hated Gym. What a terrible way to end a Thursday.

Coach Pierson shouted at the instigator while Malcolm ignored the glares aimed his way, instead wiping the sweat from his forehead. He glanced back at Curtis, who stood by the goalie, paying no attention to the match. Shaking his head, he sighed and returned his focus to the game—pointless to wish Curtis would ever participate.

Eventually, the end of the period arrived and Coach Pierson blew his whistle. “All right, everybody. Hit the locker rooms.”

The command revived the room. Half the students scurried off in one direction, the other half to another. Malcolm lingered behind. No reason to rush in—the locker room was always chaos. Loud, crowded, filled with sweaty boys eager to laugh at every imperfection he had... yeah, no thanks.

Once inside, he stalled, pretending his phone riveted him far more than it did. Anything until the bathroom stalls were free.

Curtis took a different approach. He grabbed his gym bag from his locker, stripped in seconds, then tore off toward the showers—less people there, but still humiliating in Malcolm’s opinion. He’d rather stay where he was.

As the other boys laughed and joked around him, Malcolm kept his eyes glued to the screen—don’t look up, don’t look at anyone, don’t get accused of staring. Just wait. When the noise died down, he sighed. Grabbing his clothes, he slipped into a bathroom stall to change, finally safe.

He leaned against the stall door once finished, closing his eyes as the distant drips of water ceased. Curtis would probably want to come over to his house, and he would have to tell him, ‘ _No, it’s my dad’s birthday. Mom wants family only._ ’ He’d have to face the usual glare, like at any refusal during the past year, possibly a vulgar name.

He sighed again. Opening the stall door, he then stepped out. Might as well get it over with.

***

Malcolm woke with a start the next morning. Turning his alarm off, he tried to remember his dream—a dinosaur attack… it had been cool. After getting up, he washed his face—ignoring his reflection like usual—and then dressed himself.

His pants fit a little snugly, most likely from the big meal the night before. Mom had made steak for Dad's birthday, and he had been so hungry from his meager lunch that he had taken seconds of everything. _I'll cut back today_.

He arranged his books in his bag before Mom called him from downstairs. Hurrying down, he walked into a kitchen teeming with lunch-packing energy. Mom glanced up as he entered and smiled, while Dad gave him a tight side hug.

"Bet you're glad it's Friday?" he joked.

Malcolm nodded and hugged him back, stretching his arms to encircle the man’s heavyset form. When it ended, he had to suppress a laugh at some lingering coffee droplets in Dad’s graying mustache. From a distance, his umber skin obscured them, but they were unmistakable up close. Combined with his clothing—a wrinkled flannel shirt underneath a pair of stained blue overalls bearing the words “ _Fifth Street Mechanic_ ”—he was the very image of ‘ _not a morning person._ ’

Mom was the exact opposite. Bustling about the kitchen with a thermos in hand, she exuded professionalism in her crisp navy blue top and ironed black skirt. A chipper “ _TGIF_ ” left her lips—painted a light pink to suit her porcelain complexion—while her heels clacked against the floor.

"Oh, Malcolm," she said after wrapping him in a hug. "I have to work late on Monday, and I'd like you to wait there. You can stay in the front lobby of my department. The receptionist is super nice; you’ll love her.” She smiled. “I thought I'd tell you now so you're not caught unprepared. Next week, be ready when class is over for me to come and get you."

"Oh." Malcolm thought this over. "I can't just walk home like usual and wait there?"

Her smile turned pleading. "I'd rather you not. You know I don't like you being alone that long." At his crestfallen expression, she added, "Curtis can come along too. In fact, that would be even better, for you’d have a friend to wait with."

He sighed. "I'll ask him."

And with that, the conversation ended. Mom kissed Dad goodbye, and then Malcolm followed her to the car, where he stared out the window the entire way to school.

How the heck should he ask Curtis without sounding pathetic?

***

Thankfully, Friday passed quickly. His last class was English—they talked about their upcoming argumentative essays—and then he was home free. After packing up all the necessary books for the weekend, he headed over to Curtis' locker.

Upon arriving, he stood by as Curtis worked his combination with knitted brows.

He finally noticed Malcolm standing beside him and smiled. "So, how about _Fire Emblem_ today?"

"Yep, sounds great." Malcolm opened his mouth to ask him about Mom's plan for Monday when a tall, sandy-haired girl walked up and threw an arm around the boy.

"Heeeeeeeeey, Curtis!" she gushed.

Curtis scowled, shrugging her off. "Go away.”

Courtney Scalf smirked. "Wow. So rude." She leaned against Curtis' back, her lanky frame towering over him as she rested her elbows on his head. When he scooted forward to get away from her, she gave that same pouty face Joel liked to use. “Somebody's cranky. Did your sock tell you it wanted to just be friends?” She howled with laughter as he rolled his eyes.

"Really?" he said. "That's it? Don't you have to go get tested for chlamydia or something?”

Courtney's eyes lit up. "Oh man, Henderson. You're just too easy. Now fuck off with fatso over here"—she jerked her thumb at Malcolm—"and go jerk off to anime or whatever the fuck you ugly guys do." She flounced off, tossing her hair as she left.

Curtis glowered after her as Malcolm murmured, "Don't listen to her; you're not ugly."

Redirecting his glower, Curtis snapped, "Thanks, _mom!_ Tell me again how I'm the most handsome boy in school!"

He stalked off, and Malcolm let out a sigh. It was no use trying to talk to him in a bad mood; hopefully, he'd cool off during the walk home.

***

To Malcolm’s relief, Curtis' attitude did abate with the nice weather, and they discussed _Fire Emblem_ games the whole way. Eventually, several bushes and other shrubbery came into view as they walked toward the front door, though the most notable were a cluster of gladioli Mom had received as a housewarming gift. Despite not being in bloom, Malcolm paused to admire the flowers. However, his reverie ended with a poke from Curtis, who gestured at the door.

“I have to get Camilla,” he stated.

Malcolm snorted at this, and Curtis folded his arms, grinning.

“What? Don't give me that look. She's a good character.”

“She's a very well-endowed character as well.” Malcolm pulled his key out and stuck it in the lock.

Before he could remove it, a loud bang from a slammed door made them jump, and they turned toward the source of the noise a few houses down. _Speaking of well-endowed..._

A pretty, olive-skinned girl in a cheerleader uniform hurriedly locked her door. Sweeping her dark hair over her shoulder, Bianca Torres jogged down to a black SUV idling on the street and hopped into the passenger side. The car then sped off, disappearing from sight.

With the distraction over, Malcolm finally cracked up at the dreamy expression on Curtis’ face.

He sighed, dopey smile still intact. “What a waste. You get to live only a few houses away from her, and you don't even like girls.”

Malcolm laughed again and gave him a gentle shove inside. “Okay, thirsty boy.” Before entering the house himself, he checked the mail and let out a cry of delight. “My shirt is here!” He rushed past a bewildered Curtis into the kitchen, then grabbed a pair of scissors for the package.

After following him, Curtis leaned against the doorframe with folded arms, an eyebrow quirked in amusement. “That was quite the reaction for just a T-shirt.”

Malcolm held up the article of clothing—blue with the signature shield emblazoned across the front—and exclaimed, “Well, look at it! They’re always so overpriced, and I finally got one on sale!”

“Yeah, yeah, what a steal, Captain America is the best—I know the spiel.” Curtis frowned. “Though, I will say, I'm getting kind of tired of the Hydra agent fake-outs in the comics. Like, either make the super soldier serum part of Hydra’s plan, or don't. It's getting a little old.”

“Wow.” Malcolm placed a hand over his heart. “Did you read the newer issues just for _me?_ ” He laughed. “But how? I thought you didn’t usually buy comic books.”

“There's this amazing invention called the Internet. People often post things on there,” Curtis deadpanned. At Malcolm’s goofy grin, he made a face. “You were going to talk about them anyway, so I might as well figure out what’s going on.” He shook his head. “Still don’t get why you like him so much.”

Shrugging, Malcolm glanced back at the shirt. “So many comic books have the origin story of ‘ _due to random accident or event, I guess I gotta fight bad guys now_.’ I like the idea of a person becoming a hero because he chooses to be one.” He sighed in response to Curtis’ smirk. “Yes, even though he only fought bad guys ‘ _because_ ’ of the super soldier serum.”

“Magic steroids to the rescue,” Curtis quipped. Righting himself, he moved back toward the entrance and stopped in front of the staircase. “You coming?”

“Yeah.” Malcolm cleaned up his mess and hurried after him.

From there, they made their way upstairs into Malcolm's navy blue bedroom, then dropped their backpacks beside a crumpled heap of clothes on the bed. A shove from Malcolm sent the pile tumbling onto the floor, and Curtis used the opportunity to take its spot.

“Watch my best unit get killed in, like, the first hard battle,” he joked as he moved aside some scattered comic books to grab a DS game system off Malcolm’s desk. “That would be my luck.”

Malcolm chuckled. “The true _Fire Emblem_ experience.” He handed over the game, then set to work on straightening up his room. Mom would be home soon, and if she saw the mess, he'd definitely receive a lecture.

As he folded the last pair of pants and put it away, Curtis spoke up: “So you know Alex Gorzyka? The kid who got diagnosed with leukemia last semester?”

He nodded. “Yeah, what about him?”

Curtis pursed his thin lips. “Well, you know how everybody is always going on about ' _being a community_ ' and how we should do whatever we can to help him? And you know Lisa Yales?” To Malcolm’s bewildered stare, he explained, “Had an exec position last year. Gave that cringy speech about how Alex’s diagnosis broke her heart and talked about the fundraiser to help pay for medical bills. That Lisa Yales.”

Fidgeting, Malcolm responded warily, “I thought the fundraiser was nice...”

“Oh no, that's fine,” Curtis blurted. “I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that. Just that she's super fucking fake—like, listen to this. Lisa is in my Earth Sciences class. And today, before the bell rang, she was sitting with her little group, Ella and Tiffany and—ah, who the fuck cares—some other people. And she was talking about how ugly Alex looked now that he had lost so much weight from the chemo and was bald.” He gave a disgusted grunt. “Like, who the fuck does that? The guy has cancer, and you gave a fucking speech about how awful it was to see him go through that, then talk shit about how he looks.”

As Curtis finished, Malcolm stared down at the floor, processing the words. “Wow... that's... legitimately horrible...”

Curtis nodded, crossing his legs. “Seriously.” Brushing a few stray hairs out of his face, he frowned. “I can't wait till this year is over, and I never have to see any of those fuckers again. They're all awful.”

“Well,” Malcolm began, shifting his weight as Curtis creased his eyebrows, “not _everybody._ Some people are probably pretty nice.”

“Dude.” Curtis paused the game and stared him straight in the eye. “I'm going to level with you. It's everybody.” At Malcolm's deepening frown, he continued, “You weren't here sophomore year when Miriam Clausell—or was it Clausen? Oh fuck, Miriam killed herself.”

“Oh geez.”

“Yeah, it was really sudden. And everybody kept going on and on about what a beautiful person she was, how much she changed their lives, how much they loved her, and blah blah blah. But like, none of those people fucking cared about her when she was alive. They didn't give two shits. And suddenly, she hangs herself and everybody won't shut up about her.”

“Did you know her?” Malcolm whispered.

Curtis snorted. “Fuck no, that's why I'm not over here singing her praises. Sure, it's sad that she killed herself, but I'm not going to pretend like we had some _deep_ connection and I cared about her when I didn't. I'm pretty sure the only time I ever talked to her was when she asked me for a pencil in English freshman year. That was it.”

Rubbing his arm, Malcolm wracked his brain for a response—what did he say to all of _that?_

Fortunately, he didn't have to say anything, as the front door opened and Mom called his name. Jumping at the surprise, he told Curtis he was going to greet her, to which the other boy also hopped off the bed.

He went downstairs, Curtis not far behind, and then entered the kitchen, where Mom washed her coffee thermos with her dark curls tied back.

She turned around and smiled at them. “Hey, guys! How was school?”

“Fine,” they responded in unison.

As they said this, a small, white terrier raced under the table and sniffed Curtis' shoes. It then moved on to Malcolm, licking his hands and wagging its tail.

“Mom!” he cried out at his friend’s shell-shocked expression. “You let Cooper out of his crate!” He picked up the Westie and faced her. “You know Curtis doesn't like dogs.”

“Oh! I'm so sorry, Curtis!” She took Cooper from his arms and walked out of the room to the back door. Once the dog had been let into the backyard, she returned bearing a sheepish smile. “I wasn't really thinking. It's been kind of a long day.”

“It's okay,” Curtis squeaked. He still trembled from the encounter. “I don't get as bothered with the small breeds. It's mainly the big ones...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, I apologize again.” Setting her thermos in the drying rack, she then gave Malcolm a hug, glancing back at Curtis once they had disengaged. “Did Malcolm ask you about Monday?”

“Monday?” His eyebrows rose in confusion.

Malcolm slapped his forehead. “Aw man, I forgot to ask him.”

“Ask me what?” Eyebrows still raised, Curtis shifted his gaze between Malcolm and her.

At the look, she explained the situation, finishing up with the question regarding Curtis coming along. A slight smirk played out on his face when she listed the reason for the visit, but otherwise his expression remained stoic.

“Yeah, that's fine. It would be cool to see the Lab.”

“Great. Well then, I'll take both of you there after school on Monday.” She walked away from them and grabbed her purse. “I'm going to make a quick run to the store. I need a couple of things for dinner. You're welcome to join us, Curtis.”

He nodded.

After she left, they climbed back upstairs to Malcolm’s room. Inside, Malcolm grabbed one of his comic books and lay down on the bed.

Curtis sat next to him and shot him a snide grin. “Really? She doesn't want you to be home alone for a few hours? How old are you again?”

Malcolm wet his lips.

“Like, I know you skipped a grade when you were younger, but you're like sixteen, right?”

“Yeah,” he confessed.

Curtis snickered and shook his head. “ _Wow_.” He resumed his game but had to pause it right away as his phone rang. “Aw shit, what now?” he grumbled. Clicking the green button, he held the phone to his ear and barked out a gruff greeting.

As the call continued, Malcolm tore his attention away from the comic to watch Curtis’ growing scowl. He argued with the party on the other line, and—although Malcolm could not hear the conversation—his tone was heated.

“Fine, fine... I'm coming home... yes, I will do it then... just... I'm coming home from Malcolm's... will you chill?... Cool, bye...”

He hung up, fuming. “So that was my mom. She's being a psycho and declaring that I have to clean the bathroom _right now_. Apparently, it can't wait.” He got off the bed, gathered up his things, and then gave Malcolm a salute. “See you around. I work Saturday and Sunday, but I should be free in the morning and early afternoon. Let me know if you want to get together this weekend.” He gave his impressive grin. “Unless you think you’ll be sick of me by the time we hang out at the Lab.”

“Nah.” Malcolm shrugged. “But I’ll think about it. Thanks.” He led Curtis downstairs, then told him goodbye.

After locking the door, he trudged back up to his room, where he stared blankly down at the comic. Where had he left off? Glancing at the clock, he couldn’t help but sigh—4:35 P.M. There was still a whole lot of Friday left to spend alone.


	3. No Mad Scientists Here

Malcolm scanned his brain for the answer. _What year was it?_ Henry the VIII... he married Catherine in... 1509. Yes, that was it. He scribbled it out and turned his quiz in, breathing out a sigh of relief. Grabbing his bag, he then exited the classroom and thought over his schedule.

Mondays were always a difficult day. He had all of his hardest classes—AP Calculus, AP Biology, AP European History, AP English, and Spanish—along with a couple of electives and no free periods. The only good thing about the day was that he didn't have Gym, but besides that, it reinforced every stupid _Garfield_ -ism out there. Especially today, with having to wait at the Lab after school.

At his locker, he switched out his books and stashed his backpack before walking to the Commons, where several students sat on couches doing homework. He leaned back against a couch, his wandering mind bringing up his lackluster weekend: playing _Overwatch_ with Curtis, going to church on Sunday, watching anime, ignoring his Bio project...

The bell rang, and he jumped to his feet, making a beeline for the lunchroom. After grabbing his food—chicken parmesan, carrots, and buttered noodles—he paid and sat down. Curtis joined him soon after, and Malcolm greeted him with an enthusiastic, “I finally started _My Hero Academia_ and you were RIGHT.”

As they ate, an electronic squeal distracted him, and he glanced toward the front of the lunchroom. There, a boy with shaggy hair and glasses stood, holding a wireless microphone.

He waved at the crowd. “Hey, everybody! Brad Li here! As your Spirit Rep, I thought I would let you know what's going down this week for Homecoming. The theme this year is ' _Out of This World_.’ We'll have related events throughout the week, and then an all-school assembly on Friday to get pumped for the big game the next day. And finally, Homecoming Dance that night! Make sure to order your T-shirts and other merchandise, because whichever class buys the most earns a cool prize! So be sure to pitch in and help your class win!”

He continued in that manner, detailing the various events that would happen such as dress-up days, but Malcolm had stopped listening and Curtis didn't seem particularly interested either; it wasn’t like they ever participated anyway.

Malcolm finished his last bite and scraped up some of the sauce with his fork. The lunch lady hadn't given him a very big piece of chicken, and a faint pang of hunger still rumbled in his stomach. With Brad still booming, he turned to Curtis. “Are you going to Homecoming?”

Wiping his mouth, Curtis set down his empty can of _Monster_. “Nope.” He shook his head. “Not the game, not the dance. I couldn't give less of a shit about that kind of stuff.” He poked his chicken with his fork.

“Do you want to do something on Saturday?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, that would be cool. I work during the day, but I should be off in the evening. They finally gave me a freaking day shift on the weekend.” He noticed Malcolm eyeing his tray and pushed it over to him. “If you're going to eye-fuck the thing, then just take it. I'm not that hungry.” He smirked. “And you look like you're preparing for the winter anyway. I don't want you to starve.”

Malcolm’s cheeks flushed, and he shook his head—better hungry than sorry.

***

In the dimly lit room, Dr. Reeder gestured at an image on the Powerpoint slide. It displayed a container with two sides, one containing a few red beads, while the other had numerous ones.

He surveyed the class. “So now with what we've discussed today about osmolarity, to which side should the water flow?”

Malcolm raised his hand, prompting a nod.

“Malcolm?”

“It will flow to the side with the highest concentration.”

“Very good. And what about the particles?”

“They will move to the side with the lowest concentration through passive diffusion unless the membrane is impermeable.”

Dr. Reeder nodded again, a smile playing on his lips. “Excellent.” Before he could show any more examples, the bell rang. He clapped his hands together. “All right, that's time. I think we're done with solubility and osmolarity. Tomorrow's lab is going to be over gas exchange; please read over your pre-lab handouts. Also, I have a video at the end! So look forward to that.”

Conversations combined with the noise of packing filled the room once he finished. Malcolm ignored it, focusing on his own supplies. However, as he put away his notebook and pencils, Dr. Reeder approached his desk.

“Good work today,” he said. “You were on fire answering questions. I'm really glad you speak up more in class these days.”

Malcolm beamed at the praise—not every day one got a Reeder compliment. “Thank you, sir,” he replied, to which the teacher smiled.

Clearing his throat, Dr. Reeder folded his arms. “So, I actually came to talk to you about an opportunity. Do you have any interest in medicine?”

“Yeah. I'm thinking about becoming a doctor. I shadowed at a hospital last summer, and I'm pretty involved in 4-H.”

Malcolm’s answer appeared to impress him, his eyes lighting up behind his glasses. “Well, then... there's a medical symposium in Clarksville every November at the university. Even though I haven’t practiced medicine in a few years, I always go, and I get to take one student along. I think you would be the perfect choice. If you're interested, I'll give you the information so you and your parents can look it over.”

Malcolm gaped at him and managed to sputter, “Y-yeah, that sounds awesome! I am definitely interested, no doubt about it, that would be great...”

He stopped rambling at Dr. Reeder’s amused smile, and instead willed the heat to leave his cheeks.

Chuckling, Dr. Reeder held out his hand for him to shake. “All right, I'll get you the paperwork sometime next week. Let me know if you can make it.”

Malcolm nodded eagerly, thanked him, and then headed toward his locker, his mind running a thousand miles an hour. A medical symposium! And Reeder had picked him! He grinned all the way down the hall. Not even his huge homework load could ruin his mood.

A moment later, Curtis joined him. Upon hearing Malcolm’s success, he gave an approving nod—“That’s pretty cool”—before they exited the school and trekked over to the parking lot. They spotted a red Subaru displaying several bumper stickers— _My Child is on the Honor Roll, Black Lives Matter,_ and a Jesus fish—and ran over.

“How was school today, guys?” Mom asked as they stashed their backpacks in the rear.

Malcolm excitedly relayed the news about Dr. Reeder and the medical symposium, and her face lit up as he talked.

“That's amazing, honey! I'm so proud of you!”

After they buckled up, she took off, first rolling down several of the larger streets in the town, then entering the on-ramp for the highway. Before long, their car whizzed by fields and a gas station, the Midwestern landscape passing by in a blur. She exited after a couple minutes, and an imposing building came into view.

From the outside, it only appeared to be a couple of stories, but Malcolm had been told it had numerous floors below. Enormous windows covered the front part of the building—providing a look into the spacious foyer of the main entrance—while manicured lawns with colorful sprinkles of flowerbeds stretched in all directions. To top it all off, a large stone plaque on the lawn spelled out, “ _KRIEGER MILITARY LABORATORY”_ in bold letters.

Curtis whistled in appreciation, and Mom chuckled at the gesture.

“It is a little intimidating when you first see it, but I promise that everyone is really nice. You guys can hang out in the lobby by my department. I've already told Sheila that you'll be there.”

Their car followed a small, winding road before entering a parking garage, where they took the garage elevator up to the first floor. Malcolm glimpsed the grand foyer—an expansive room with lofty ceilings and ornamental pillars surrounding a large statue of an atomic orbital—as Mom ushered him and Curtis along, and he had half a mind to go check the place out.

However, Mom seemed to be in a hurry, so he jogged to catch up to her instead. She rattled off an endless flow about the Lab and her job—something to do with overseeing projects to help military personnel adapt to civilian life—but he wasn’t quite following.

Eventually, they entered a department labeled “ _PUBLIC OUTREACH AND COMMUNICATIONS_.” They walked into a waiting room where a frizzy-haired woman, presumably Sheila, sat behind a desk.

They exchanged pleasantries with her, and then Mom faced both of them. “I have a lot of work, but I can show you my office really fast if you'd like.”

They agreed to this, and she led them through a doorway into an area filled with cubicles. Turning at one of the walkways in the office area, she entered a small room with a desk and several computer monitors. “Here it is. What do you think?”

Before either of them could respond, a man rushed into the doorway. “Hey, Laura, I had a couple questions for you if you—” He stopped upon noticing them. “Oh, who are these young men?"

“My son, Malcolm, and his friend, Curtis.”

The man smiled and held out his hand to Curtis. “So nice meeting you, Malcolm. I'm Clark. Laura talks about you all the time.”

Curtis stared in bewilderment at the proffered hand. Suddenly, realization dawned in his eyes and a mischievous smile uncurled on his face. He shook the outstretched hand. “Yep, that's me. Malcolm Sanders. The one and only.”

“Oh no, he's my son's friend. Malcolm here is my son,” Mom corrected, rushing over to Malcolm's side and giving his shoulder a squeeze.

Heat entered his cheeks at the misunderstanding, but it was nothing compared to the beet-red color overtaking Clark's face. He shifted his gaze back and forth between Mom’s pale-complexioned form and Malcolm, sputtering, “O-oh goodness, I'm so sorry—I... I didn't realize...” He stared at Malcolm, flustered. “I just assumed... I mean... I didn't know you were adopted—”

“I'm not adopted,” he protested.

Clark looked ready for death.

Off to the side, Curtis had covered his mouth with his hands. He shook from trying to contain his laughter while Malcolm glanced around the room for any means to escape. There were none.

Mom coughed, and Clark sheepishly excused himself; whatever he had wanted to ask her seemed forgotten in the wake of his blunder.

She grimaced. “Well... uh... I should probably get to work... I'll lead you guys back to the front lobby.”

“Anything you say, Mom,” Curtis replied, and she gave a short laugh.

“Oh, listen to you.” She ruffled his hair. “You can be my honorary son, how about that?”

He smiled cheekily, and she beckoned them out of her office.

***

Malcolm turned the page of his notebook and scribbled down a problem. Once solved, he continued copying from his Calculus textbook, but his pencil halted as Curtis frowned and erased the messy numbers on his notebook.

Tapping his shoulder, Malcolm asked, “Do you... um... need some help?”

Curtis shook his head. “No, math is just bullshit.” He slammed his Algebra book shut and hopped to his feet. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. See ya.”

A minute later, he returned, grinning to himself. What the heck was that about? Malcolm furrowed his brow, but after Curtis pulled out his phone, he mentally shrugged and continued working through the last of his Calculus homework. Upon finishing, he leaned back in his chair—he deserved a break.

A sigh went up next to him, and he glanced over as Curtis said, “Do you know the password for the Wi-Fi?”

“No, but you can ask Sheila when she comes back.”

Curtis scowled. “She's been gone for like half an hour. Who knows how long it'll be before she comes back.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I am so fucking bored.”

Malcolm looked down at his phone. “I would set up a hot spot, but I'm pretty much out of data.”

“Eh, whatever.” Standing up, Curtis stretched and said, “I saw a soda machine in one of the hallways we came through. I'm going to get something.”

With nothing better to do, Malcolm joined him, and they exited the waiting room and meandered down a couple hallways.

After a minute, Malcolm tugged on Curtis’ sleeve. “Are you sure this is the right way?”

Pursing his lips, Curtis stopped. “Pretty sure. Wait... maybe it was that way.”

They continued to no avail.

As their lack of direction grew more apparent, the sense of not belonging made Malcolm’s palms sweat. He wiped them on his pants. “How about we call it quits now and head back? I don't want to get lost.”

“There's maps everywhere, we won't get lost.” Curtis’ face split into his impressive grin. “And besides, this is the perfect opportunity. Why don't we explore the place?”

“Can we do that?”

“Who cares? The worst that can happen is we get yelled at.”

Malcolm frowned. “I’d rather not. How about I ask my mom to give us a tour sometime when she's not so busy?”

“Ok, but listen,” Curtis insisted, “she's only going to show us the pre-approved places. Here, we can look wherever. I don't want to wait for the future when we can just go right now.”

“Curtis, no. What if they think we're up to something?”

“But we're not, we're just looking around.”

“They don't know that!” Malcolm exclaimed, then immediately shrank at his outburst. “Sorry... I... really don't want to...”

Curtis sighed, glowering at the floor. “Fine. We'll go back. Even though we still have, like, two hours to kill.”

With that, they walked back in the direction of the waiting room, Curtis trudging behind Malcolm.

“We're almost there,” Malcolm said.

No response came.

“Curtis?” Spinning around, he frowned at the empty hallway. Where the heck was he? He backtracked while muttering under his breath, turning a corner to spot Curtis rummaging around in what appeared to be a closet. “Hey, what are you doing!” he yelled, running up to his side.

His devious smile was back when Malcolm stopped next to him. “Check it out! Lab coats!”

Malcolm blinked at the array of white material hanging before them.

“We can use these to blend in. Then we can go look around wherever.”

“Curtis—”

“No, come on. Stop being such a pussy for once. We'll put them back once we're done. We just gotta keep track of time.”

Staring at Curtis, Malcolm couldn’t help but cringe at the determined expression on his face: tense lips and fiery eyes that bored into Malcolm’s own. His defiance shriveled and he drooped, sighing. “All right. Sure...”

Curtis let out a ' _whoop_ ' and pumped his fist in the air. “Fuck yeah! All right, let's do this!”

They each grabbed a lab coat—Curtis was practically swimming in his, but they couldn't find any smaller sizes, much to his frustration—and once dressed, they took off exploring.

Pretty soon, it became apparent they had left the managerial and human resources section and entered ones centered around actual research. White coat-clad individuals strode past them, most too absorbed in phone calls or clipboards to notice them, while rooms with lab equipment—chemistry tables and strange apparatuses—seemed about a dime a dozen.

Curtis looked like a kid in a candy store and seemed to soak up every sight the Lab could offer while even Malcolm began to lose his earlier apprehension.

“What do you think they're doing?” he asked after they passed by a room with a dormant Tesla coil.

“Who knows? All I know is that it looks more interesting than my freaking job at Sandy’s.” Curtis grimaced. “Did I tell you about what happened last night?”

“Nope.”

He gave a long, dramatic sigh. “Hoo boy. So this lady came back to the drive-thru window after picking up her food to complain because there was bacon... on her bacon burger.”

He glanced off to the side with a deadpan expression, and Malcolm almost doubled over in laughter.

“Not only that, some guys came by at, like, one-thirty in the morning and were so high it took them ten minutes to order. I wanted to just freaking beat the shit out of them after the five-minute mark.”

Malcolm wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “So now I know what I need to do the next time I go to Sandy's.”

This earned a withering glare from Curtis. “You pull that shit, I'll kick your ass.”

“I don't know, I think I could take you.”

As the words left his mouth, a small stab of anxiety shot through him at Curtis' reaction: his eyebrows creased and he set his mouth in a hard, straight line. An apology was about to force its way out when Curtis grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

“Ow, that hurt,” Malcolm laughed, rubbing the sore spot.

“Hey, talk shit, get hit.”

“Poop.” He rested his chin on his fist and then cracked up as Curtis feigned offense.

“All right then,” Curtis exclaimed, “that's unforgivable! Looks like the only way out of this is a fight to the death, mano y mano, battle royale.”

“Are weapons allowed?”

“Nope.” Curtis puffed out his small chest. “We fight like men!”

Again, Malcolm laughed while Curtis smiled in reciprocation, playfully holding up his fists. A sly smile formed on Malcolm’s face as he thought of another retort, but Curtis pointed ahead before he could say anything.

“Hey, there's an elevator. We should go down a floor.”

He hesitated—they were getting pretty far from the waiting room. Curtis pursed his lips, and he relented—they wouldn’t go too much farther, right?

They entered the elevator and made their way down, continuing their exploration. As they strolled through a spacious corridor, Curtis stated, “Man, there is no one freaking here. Why have so much space?”

“Maybe they have to move really big equipment?”

Curtis didn't appear convinced but didn't push the topic any further; his interest had already moved onto something else. “Hey, look over there.”

At the end of the corridor, a large steel door labeled “ _RESTRICTED AREA_ ” stood resolutely. Wider than the other doors in the area, it featured a scanner for a key card next to its handle, with a red light currently illuminating the interface. It held a commanding presence, and they approached it in an almost reverent manner.

“What do you think goes on here?” Curtis asked.

Malcolm shrugged. “Who knows?” He turned to leave but stopped as Curtis didn’t move. “You coming?”

He shook his head. “One second... I just wanna see something.” He pulled an ID out of his pocket and scanned it.

A green light appeared on the interface, and a click occurred as the pistons released, unlocking the door.

Curtis' mouth fell open. “Holy shit, we have access!” Face splitting into a grin, he turned to face Malcolm, practically bouncing in excitement. “Can you believe this? We hit the motherload!”

Malcolm just gawked at him. “What... where the heck did you get that!?”

He shrugged. “When I went to the bathroom earlier, I found it lying next to the sink. I figured it might be a key card for a door, so I kept it.”

Sputtering, Malcolm took a couple deep breaths before hissing, “Are you crazy!? You _took_ it!”

“I was going to give it to the Lost and Found! Just... you know... after I tested it out.” Curtis jerked his head at the door. “So are you coming or not?”

Malcolm gawked at him again. “No! We can't go in there! I don't even know if we're allowed to be wandering in the general areas.”

Curtis' expression turned pleading. “Malcolm, come on. Just a few minutes; if somebody points out we're not supposed to be there, we'll just apologize, say we got lost, and turn the ID in. If nobody does notice—which is what's happened so far—we'll look around, leave, and _then_ turn the ID in. Whatever happens, the ID gets back to its rightful owner, and we'll also probably get to see some really cool shit.”

He shook his head. “Curtis, this is a bad idea. Let's just go back to the waiting room, okay?”

“You are such a freaking chicken. I already told you that whatever happens, we'll be okay.”

“You don't know that for certain!”

“No, I don't! But you know how many things might go wrong in life? A lot!” Curtis glared at him, crossing his arms. “Stop freaking cowering in your little bubble about everything; this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity right here, and you're crying about getting into trouble like a fucking kindergartener. I'm surprised you even agreed to the medical symposium with Reeder when you're such a big fucking baby!” He raised his hands in a mock cowering position. “Watch out, Malcolm, you could get lost on the Clarksville campus. Wouldn't want that!”

Malcolm clenched his jaw, staring Curtis down.

He glared right back, never breaking eye contact, and the resolve left Malcolm like a balloon releasing its air as his opponent refused to back down.

Drooping, he nodded. “Okay... a few minutes at the most...”

Curtis rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “God, you are so fucking ridiculous.” He opened the door, and they stepped inside.

A security guard sat behind a window close to the entrance, but he merely glanced up at them as they entered and then continued looking at a monitor. They walked along the corridor, keeping their heads down, and Malcolm cast a furtive look around—the area didn't really seem any different from the rest of the facility.

After they were out of sight of the guard, Curtis jerked his thumb back in that direction. “Man, who did they hire, Paul Blart or something? That guy isn't making employee of the month anytime soon.”

Malcolm involuntarily snorted, quickly covering his mouth, and Curtis smirked at the reaction.

“See? You're having fun.”

A minute later, they came across a windowless door. In and of itself that wouldn’t have been too interesting, but the large letters on its surface spelling out, “ _PRIORITY PROJECT: NO PHOTOGRAPHY OR VIDEO ALLOWED_ ” did make them pause.

“Well, look at what we have here,” Curtis said, tapping his chin.

Malcolm glanced at him uneasily as he flashed a devious smile.

“Want to see what's inside?”

With a shake of his head, Malcolm let out a deep breath. “Curtis, no. I am going to stand firm on this one. We are not going in that room.”

Curtis shrugged. “Suit yourself.” To Malcolm's chagrin, he cracked the door open, glancing inside. “Hey, it's empty,” he said and slipped into the room, letting the door close behind him.

Malcolm stared in disbelief before shaking his head again. _I can't believe I'm doing this, but I can't let that idiot accidentally kill himself._ He entered the room, surveying his surroundings.

It looked like a typical chemistry lab, with titration machines set up on a few island stations, while a refrigerator hummed off to the side. To the back of the room, Curtis stood in front of a large counter stretching along the wall, engrossed in some unseen object.

Frowning, Malcolm hurried over as Curtis glanced up, a grin spreading across his face.

“Knew you'd come inside.” He gestured in front of him, where a watch glass-covered beaker sat, filled with a light pink liquid. “This is the only thing that's out right now. They must have been working on it or something.” He removed the watch glass and held it up, inspecting the contents. “Doesn't look like much...”

“What the heck do you think you're doing!? Put it back and cover it up! That could be acid for all you know!” Malcolm cried, wringing his hands.

Curtis rolled his eyes. “I'm just holding it, will you chill?”

Malcolm shook his head, and he raised an eyebrow.

“What, you afraid I'm going to drink it or something?” He imitated a sipping motion, tilting the beaker in front of his face.

Malcolm let out a horrified gasp in response. “Give that to me right now!” He grabbed at the beaker, trying to wrestle it from Curtis' grasp.

Struggling to hold on, Curtis hissed, “Stop it! I was just about to put it back! Will you quit being so crazy and—” but he didn't finish his thought.

Malcolm tugged upward on the container, attempting to use his height to his advantage. It worked, and the beaker popped out of Curtis’ hands.

But not without tilting. Liquid poured onto Curtis’ face and into the gap between the loose lab coat and his clothes, completely soaking him.

Both of them froze. Curtis' eyes widened while Malcolm's face contorted in horror. The beaker crashed to the floor and shattered as he lost his grip, too stunned to hold it.

“Curtis... I-I—”

“You fucking spilled it on me! What the fuck, what the fuck, holy shit, you spilled the whole fucking thing on me!” Curtis screeched, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Close to tears, Malcolm swallowed bile as the room spun. “I didn't mean to—oh God, I'm sorry...”

“You should be, you stupid fuck!”

A knock on the lab door interrupted them, and a male voice called out, “Everything okay in here? I heard some yelling.”

Whirling to face Malcolm, a wide-eyed Curtis whispered, “We gotta get out of here. Come on!”

They raced for a door set on the other side of the room just as the main one to the lab creaked open.

The whir of autoclaves and centrifuges accompanied their pounding feet before they managed to make it back to the main hallway of the Restricted Area. Neither one of them stopped for air until they were in the elevator. After heading back up to the main floor, they stashed the lab coats in the closet, then left the ID at a random table in the building—hopefully, somebody would find it. Their flight finally ended in a restroom outside of the waiting area, where Curtis used the automatic hand dryer on his wet clothes.

“I am so sorry about that,” Malcolm murmured after a few minutes. He kept his eyes trained on the floor, a lump still present in his throat.

Curtis frowned in response, feeling his shirt for moisture. “It's whatever. I'm not in any kind of pain, and at least this stuff seems to be drying okay.”

“Huh...” Malcolm bit his lip. “And... you're sure you feel fine?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Well... I guess if I had to complain, I am a little hungry. But that’s it.”

Malcolm slumped against the wall, glancing to the side. “You know... it might have been a Ringer's solution or something. Lots of labs use it as a diluent because it's so stable and safe. It would explain why the stuff was just sitting out and not being refrigerated or anything.”

Curtis nodded, also somewhat lost in thought. “Yeah, that's gotta be it. Whatever you just said.”

When they finished, they re-entered the waiting room, where Sheila once again sat behind the desk.

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness! I got back about five minutes ago and was so worried when you guys weren't here. I was just about to call your mom, Malcolm.” Her voice took on an apologetic tone: “I'm so sorry I was gone for so long. Records needed help, and it took way longer than I thought it would.”

They told her it was okay and went back to working on homework, never once mentioning their adventure.

***

The red hatchback parked on the side of the street, and they straggled toward Malcolm's house. Outside, the sun barely peeked over the horizon, prompting them to escape the chill of the shadowed landscape into the warmly lit residence.

Upon entering the house, they all greeted Dad—who had changed from his work attire into a comfortable pair of jeans and a T-shirt—with either a hug, a kiss, or a high five.

Afterward, Mom turned to Malcolm and Curtis: “I'm going to cook dinner. You guys can do homework or goof off, and I'll call you when it's ready.”

They nodded at this and trotted upstairs to Malcolm's room.

“Can I watch _RWBY_ on your laptop?” Curtis asked hopefully.

Malcolm typed in his password and handed the computer to him, then unzipped his backpack. He still had a good deal of homework to do before the night was over.

They engaged in their respective activities for a while—Curtis engrossed with the computer screen and Malcolm with his textbooks—when Curtis poked him.

“Do you know how much longer it will be before dinner is ready?” he asked, wincing. “I'm practically starving—like hunger pains starving.”

“I can go ask her.” Malcolm set his book down and made his way into the kitchen for the estimate.

Stirring a large pot on the stove, Mom responded, “Actually, it's about ready now. You can go tell him, and then will you please set the dining room table?”

He nodded and relayed the message to Curtis—who came bounding down the stairs eagerly—and then went about setting plates, glasses, forks, and napkins into four spots on the table. Once he'd completed the task, he milled about with Dad and Curtis, all of them asking what they could do to help before sitting down when she brought in the large pot.

“Beef stroganoff! And there's plenty, so everybody dig in!” She dished everyone out a portion and then came back with green beans and rolls to use as side dishes.

They made small talk as they ate, only disturbed by an occasional whine from Cooper in his crate. There were the usual obligatory questions about everyone’s day, and Dad stole the show with a story about a 1998 Toyota with over 300,000 miles—“I’m pretty sure this car only ran off of sheer determination at this point!”

Malcolm listened in contentment, savoring the rich flavor of the stroganoff. However, his mood changed once he glanced to the right.

Curtis wolfed down his plate, green beans and roll included, and then dished up an enormous portion for seconds. Soon, that had been demolished as well, and he was going back for thirds.

Mom and Dad also shared the observation and stared on in amazement. “Dang boy, you're giving me a run for my money,” Dad teased as Curtis polished off his third plate.

He gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, guess I was a lot hungrier than I realized.”

Mom laughed and shook her head. “It's fine; eat as much as you want. We're just not used to seeing you with this kind of appetite.” She glanced into the pot and let out a small noise of surprise. “I was thinking I would have enough for another meal, but now I'm not so sure we'll have any leftovers at all!”

Sinking into his chair, Curtis rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh... um... sorry...”

“It's okay!” she exclaimed. At his withdrawn state, she asked, “Do you want more? Dish yourself up, I told you that you could have as much as you want.”

He murmured a “thank you” and then spooned another enormous serving onto his plate, tearing into it with gusto.

Malcolm watched him uneasily from across the table, his own appetite starting to wane. It had been true that Curtis hadn't eaten that much at lunch, even for him, but this... this was a little excessive.

When everyone had finished eating, Mom brought out leftover birthday cake and ice cream for dessert. Curtis once again ate several helpings, to which she and Dad gave each other looks of bewildered incredulity while Malcolm’s stomach sank into his feet.

Afterward, everyone pitched in with dishes, and soon, Curtis was refusing Mom’s usual offer for a ride as he started to head out. Malcolm waved goodbye from his front door, then joined his parents in the kitchen.

As soon as he entered, Dad shook his head and said, “Did that kid run a marathon today or something? Jesus, I don't think I ate that much even back when I ran track.”

Malcolm forced a smile and excused himself to his room.

He wasn’t going to sleep well.


	4. Cool Cat Has a Chill Day

To say his apartment complex looked depressing was a fucking understatement in Curtis' opinion. Chipped brown paint coated the exterior while weeds blanketed the small patches of dirt around the sides. The landlord, Mr. Minksy, still hadn't fixed the lock on the main building, so Curtis swung the door open without reaching for his key.

Upon entering, he trudged up the rickety steps and into a dimly lit hallway. Stained carpeting and wallpaper greeted his eyes, and a flickering “ _EXIT_ ” sign finished off the decrepit charm. He grimaced and moved toward his apartment, pulling out his key. The door led straight into the living room, where a man with a slight paunch sat on the couch—Jeffrey. _Aw, fuck._

Curtis ignored Jeffrey’s half-hearted “ _hello_ ” and strode straight through the living room into his bedroom, wrinkling his nose at the lingering cigarette smoke. Of course Mom couldn’t do that shit outside. He already had to deal with the paper-thin walls and his neighbor’s perpetual stomping; why not add carcinogens to the mix?

After dropping off his backpack, he walked back into the living room. Jeffrey had gotten off the couch ( _what a stupid name, 'Jeffrey'_ ) and now stood in the dividing area between the kitchen and living room.

“Hey, Curtis,” he said. “How ya doing?”

Curtis ignored him again and started up his PlayStation. He settled on the couch, ready to play some _Spyro._

Jeffrey coughed, shifting his weight. “Oh yeah, Trisha mentioned you like video games.” He grinned to himself. “I used to play Mario back in the day. You ever play Mario before?”

Shooting him a glare, Curtis then erupted into the largest, fakest smile he could muster. “Golly gee, I sure love me some Mario. It’s such a swell time!”

Jeffrey's smile waned, and Curtis sneered before returning his attention to the screen. Something dug into his backside as he leand against the cushion, and he frowned. Reaching behind him, he found the culprit to be Mom’s wallet. _Good God_. She would leave her head behind if it weren't attached. He set the wallet beside him and propped his feet up on the couch, starting his game.

Not long after, Mom emerged from the bedroom on the far end of the apartment, brown hair in disarray. “Curtis!” she snapped. “Get your feet off the couch.”

He complied, albeit with a sigh of annoyance.

Scrambling about the place, Mom opened up drawers in the kitchen and wandered aimlessly around the living room, occasionally peering behind the various pieces of furniture. Both he and Jeffrey watched her movements, him with amused contempt and the latter with concern.

“Do you need help with anything, Trisha?” Jeffrey eventually asked her.

“Oh, I just can't find my wallet. I'm sorry I'm taking so long.” She smiled briefly before frowning at Curtis. “Curtis, have you seen it anywhere?”

Still focused on the TV screen, he held up the object without facing her. “It's right here. I was using your credit cards to buy porn.”

“Curtis, you little shit. I swear to God—”

“I'm joking, Mom,” he interrupted, rolling his eyes as she marched over and snatched the wallet from his grasp. _As if I'd pay for porn..._

Rifling through the contents, she examined it for anything missing before regarding him again. “I'm going to check my statements. If I find any unknown purchases...” Her gaze turned stony to make her point.

Curtis just shrugged—that look hadn’t scared him since he was ten.

As she pulled on a coat from the counter, she addressed him once more: “Jeffrey and I are heading out for the night. We won't be back until tomorrow. There's chicken nuggets and pizza in the freezer; you can pick either one for dinner.”

“Ate at Malcolm's,” he responded, to which she shrugged, walking out with her boyfriend not far behind.

After a few seconds, Jeffrey muttered from the stairwell, “ _Man, your kid has an attitude problem or something._ ” There was a sigh from Mom, but Curtis couldn't hear her reply as the pair moved farther away.

Sinking into his seat, he glared at the floor. _Good talk._ He shook his head, then got up to grab a comforter from his room, wrapping himself up like a burrito. There—all cozy; perfect to find another game to play. With no one else in the apartment and no work that evening, he wanted to enjoy himself, and he had basically all night to do so.

His stomach rumbling interrupted his search, making him stare at his abdomen in disbelief. He'd made a fucking pig of himself at Malcolm's place, and now he was still hungry!

Grumbling to himself, he dropped the comforter and went into the kitchen to fix a plate of chicken nuggets. Just as he pushed the “ _START_ ” button on the microwave, a soft scratching noise made him look over at the living room window. He couldn’t help but grin. “Hey there!”

He raced over and opened it, letting a gray and white cat leap gracefully into the apartment from the fire escape outside. After closing the window, he held out his hand. The cat rubbed against it, a loud purr rumbling through her chest.

“Yeah, I missed you too, Truffy,” he cooed, and Truffy blinked up at him with large, green eyes.

It still remained a mystery as to who owned the animal—or if anyone did, for that matter—but Truffy had shown up on the fire escape about seven months ago and kept coming back ever since. While Curtis would never be allowed to keep the cat, that didn’t mean he had to stop her from visiting.

After a few more pats, he moved back into the kitchen while Truffy sat on the living room floor, watching him grab his chicken nuggets from the microwave and insert _Crash Bandicoot_ into the PlayStation. He sat cross-legged on the comforter with Truffy snuggled in his lap and a controller in his hands, his eyes glued to the TV screen. Occasionally, he ate chicken nuggets—feeding scraps to Truffy here and there—and soon had finished the plate. Gazing down at the plastic surface littered with crumbs, he still wanted more. _Good thing there's that pizza._

Once the PlayStation was off, Curtis preheated the oven and snagged a soda from the fridge. He glanced at the bag of premium flour on top of it. A while ago, he'd bought it to make pasta noodles, and he still hadn't gotten around to it. It was a waste of money not to use it, but whenever he had time, the activity brought back so many emotions...

He shook the thoughts from his head, then placed the pizza in the preheated oven. With Truffy trotting along at his feet, he switched locations to his bedroom and grabbed an ancient laptop charging on a night table. He used the time it took to boot up to put on his pajamas, a raggedy stuffed T-Rex on his dresser standing guard as he changed. Mom had long ago thrown away all his stuffed animals, but he had refused to let Rex go. It was among the few things he still had from his childhood, along with a beat-up hat and a faded card he knew by heart read, “ _Happy Birthday to my little dinosaur! Love, Grandma._ ”

Now that his computer was awake, he lay down on the bed—Truffy curled up next to him—and logged onto Facebook. Nothing really new. He yawned, browsing his feed: some guy talking about going to the gym, people ranting about politics, some pictures of food, a fucking Bible quote... ugh. Why did people feel the need to share just how boring they were?

He was about to close out of the website when a photo album from Amanda Channing caught his eye, titled “ _One Last Ride Before the End._ ”

 _God, why do girls give their albums such stupid fucking names in some attempt at being ‘deep?’_  

He opened it up and browsed the pictures. Most of the images were from the summer and showed barbecues, parties, vacations... the usual summer stuff a popular girl would experience. Or at least, stuff he assumed a popular girl would experience—who knew what went on in that world?

Curtis found what he was looking for right after some sunset pictures on a beach. He smirked to himself at an image of Amanda, wearing only a skimpy two-piece and sunglasses, smiling radiantly at the camera. All right, here was the good stuff. Clicking through the rest of the album, he started to drift off until one picture in particular made him pause.

The caption read, “ _One of the best girls!! Love you so much XOXO_ ” and featured two individuals: Amanda stood with her hand on her hip, blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, while one arm rested on the shoulder of the girl next to her—Bianca Torres.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. Bianca had never accepted his friend request, and it had always been a sore point to him that he couldn't see her pictures. But here she was, dazzling smile and perfect tan body on full display in a bikini showcasing some of the most glorious cleavage known to man. Even Amanda, as hot as she was, paled in comparison to the dark-haired beauty next to her. Grinning, Curtis right-clicked “ _Save_ ” on the image. This was _definitely_ going to be one he wanted to keep. But for now...

His stomach growling interrupted his lustful thoughts. “Oh crap!”

He leaped off the bed, startling the relaxed Truffy, and dashed into the kitchen. With a sigh of relief, he discovered the pizza was only slightly burnt before turning off the oven. God, he was hungry, but if he ate the thing now, he'd burn the shit out of his tongue.

Shifting from foot to foot as he stared at the steaming item, Curtis willed it to cool faster. He took a deep breath—this had to be the last thing he ate tonight. If he didn't stop, he was going to end up looking like Malcolm. _Poor kid_. He cut a slice and chomped down.

Malcolm was a good guy despite his fondness for food and often misguided optimism. In his opinion, if there was anybody in high school with any redeeming qualities whatsoever, it was definitely Malcolm Sanders.

He reached for another slice only to find the tray empty. “Holy crap.” To the cat behind him, he held up his hands in disbelief. “When did that happen?”

Truffy meowed in response. Hurrying back to the living room, she hopped onto a chair and pawed at the glass of the window.

Curtis drooped at the animal's insistence. “All right... I'll let you out. I was kind of hoping you'd stay longer.” He freed Truffy, who climbed the fire escape in a few agile bounds, while he watched morosely from below.

Sighing, he went to wash his dishes. Mom would flip a lid if she saw stuff in the sink. Didn't matter that she let dishes pile up all the fucking time, no, it was only a problem when he did it...

After that was done, he dragged himself back to his room and lay down on his bed. Taking a large swallow of his soda, he stared at the ceiling—what now? Well, he could... you know. He glanced at the computer lying next to him. Nothing like the present—time to pull out that picture.

Grinning, he slid a hand down the waistband of his pajama pants. It was going to be a good night.


	5. The Curious Case of Curtis Henderson

‘ _BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!’_

Malcolm slammed the snooze button, groaning. He had taken forever to fall asleep the night before, and the alarm had sounded far too early for his liking. He dozed for a few minutes before it blared again, this time jolting him out of bed.

After Mom dropped him off at school with the usual _“love you_ ” and “ _goodbye,_ ” he hurried to his locker, swapping out his books before making his way to Curtis'. When he arrived, Malcolm frowned and gazed at the guy with a critical eye. There was something... off about him, but he couldn't put his finger on what.

Curtis turned to face him, munching on a gas station breakfast burrito. “Hey, what's up?”

“Nothing much. Kind of tired,” he yawned.

Curtis finished the burrito and shrugged. “Buy a soda or something from the vending machine. That'll wake you up.” He then pulled out his signature can of _Monster_ and a second burrito from his backpack.

Malcolm blinked at the action. “How many of those things you got in there?”

“A few. I just wanted to be safe, you know?”

“I... suppose...” Malcolm faltered.

They moved away from their lockers and into the early morning bustle of the hallway. Their first classes—Spanish for Curtis and Calculus for Malcolm—were somewhat in the same direction, and they walked together. The route wasn’t that convenient for Malcolm, but he had to make the most of any opportunities—besides Gym, him and Curtis didn’t share any classes this year.

Curtis shifted as they walked. “Man, my shoes are kind of pinching today or something. Don't know what's up with that.”

Malcolm shrugged, not really invested in the state of Curtis' footwear. However, a trickle of uneasiness crawled down his neck as Curtis pulled out yet another burrito from his backpack after eating the second. “So... you still feel okay, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I feel totally fine.” He noticed Malcolm staring at him and glowered. “You don't have any room to talk, fatass!”

He shoved past some students and stormed off to his class, Malcolm left behind in a state of shock. He hadn't been expecting that at all.

***

Mr. Garund let class out late, so Malcolm had to hurry to the lunchroom. Upon arriving, he grumbled at the line but resigned himself to waiting. Curtis, however, did not show the same courtesy. After cutting ahead of some people, he took a spot next to Malcolm.

Malcolm examined him, frowning. Despite the rude action, disapproval didn’t well up. Today, he remained focused on the other boy's appearance. There was definitely something different in how Curtis looked, but what was it? He needed to figure it out, or it would drive him crazy.

“So... did you do something with your hair today?” he asked.

Curtis just stared at him. “Dude, no offense, but that is literally the gayest thing you have ever said. Also, no.”

Malcolm shrugged in reply, and with the conversational lull, Curtis prattled on about his Spanish test from the week before: “I didn’t study, and I still managed to get a 78. Pretty psyched about that.”

Malcolm nodded, albeit half-heartedly. To him, a 78 would have been something to grieve over, but Curtis stayed mainly in the B and C zones for grades.

He continued, “I remember I drank a different flavor of _Monster_ that morning. Maybe that had something to do with my good luck.”

Malcolm shrugged again. “Maybe. Just remember, correlation doesn't equal causation.” At Curtis' cocked head, he explained, “Just because two trends are related doesn't mean one caused the other. It's a logical fallacy.”

Before he could say anything else, a pretty, brown-haired girl—who had been talking to each person in line—stopped in front of him. “Hey there... hey!” she exclaimed, flashing a perfect row of porcelain white teeth. “How's it going? Saw you at church on Sunday. Didn't Reverend Mark give a great sermon?”

Malcolm gave a fake smile. “Yeah... it was... great...” He had no idea what the sermon had been about.

The girl, Holly, let out a commercial-worthy laugh and continued in her overly enthusiastic tone, “Well, as you know, it's Homecoming week, and apparently I've been nominated. It's such an honor.” She placed her sun-kissed hand on her chest in a gesture of reverence. “It would just be sooooo _huge_ to me if I won, and so I was just wondering if you'd pull through for a friend and vote for me for Homecoming Queen! Remember, I'm counting on you!”

As the last word left her mouth, Malcolm fidgeted, wishing she would move on to someone else already.

Instead, she patted his shoulder, and her eyes widened momentarily. “Oh, by the way, how was your weekend?”

“Uh... fine. How about you?” He mentally kicked himself for continuing the conversation, but it was too late.

“Mine was good!” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I had a lot of fun.”

Curtis broke his silence and snickered, “Yeah, I bet you did.” He held his hand in front of his open mouth and curled his fingers, moving them back and forth to mime a blowjob.

Holly's cheery exterior hardened as a scowl overtook her features. “Wow, somehow I didn't notice you here.” She gave a toxic smile. “But then again, you're probably pretty used to not being noticed by girls. At least I can get some.” She tilted her head, glancing downward. “How's your hand been holding up?”

Quivering his lower lip, Curtis sniffled in an exaggerated manner. “Oh man, Holly! I don't know how I'm ever going to recover from that one. You're just too cool!” He let out a fake sob. “I wanna be just like Holly! She's sooooo cool!”

She pursed her lips, and he turned to the guy behind them in line.

“Hey man, I'm trying to be just like Holly here, my idol. So can I suck your dick after lunch?”

A repulsed grimace passed over the guy's face. “Get away from me, you freak,” he muttered and faced another direction while Holly glared, arms crossed over her chest.

Malcolm just pretended to be invested in his shoes.

Shrugging, Curtis flashed Holly an apologetic smile. “Don't worry, Holly. I'm sure I can be just like you if I keep trying!”

She curled her lip. “You're literally disgusting, you know that, right?”

She then whirled around and marched off while he shouted after her, “You're just tooooooo cool for me, Holly!”

Malcolm's cheeks burned as Curtis faced him, rolling his eyes.

“She is the fakest bitch. Did you notice how she didn't even know your name?”

He didn't respond; he didn't want to get involved in the history between Curtis and Holly. Heck, he had witnessed the event that sparked their mutual hatred.

***

When Malcolm first started at Wesley High the fall semester of his junior year, he'd signed up for a Debate elective in hopes of reducing his fear of public speaking. Force himself into the deep end, if you will. The first day of class, he sat next to a brown-haired boy wearing a _Megaman_ shirt and complimented it in a fit of bravery.

This boy turned out to be Curtis, Malcolm’s first consistent friend. Sure, the guy had a temper and cursed like a sailor, but Curtis also never failed to make him laugh whenever someone in Debate took themselves too seriously. Not only that, but the day he accidentally outed himself by forgetting to close a tab containing scandalous pictures, instead of reacting with the disgusted tirade his horrorstruck mind had braced himself for, Curtis’ only comment had been: “ ** _Dude, they make gay porn. You don't need to get off to Google images._** ”

The nonchalance of it endeared him to Malcolm immediately.

In terms of the elective, Curtis took the class for a different reason than Malcolm—he had heard it wasn't too much work and wanted to zone out for a period. While there were some homework assignments and outside reading, the majority of the class grade lay in the final project: a one-on-one debate revolving around a controversial topic.

“Even though your paper only has one stance, I want you to research both sides very carefully,” Ms. Bittner explained. “You need to provide counterarguments to your opponent and that is the best method.” She paused to look around the room. “But you must also remain civil with each other. I'm sure you heard about the time a fistfight broke out in this class years ago. That kind of behavior is unacceptable. Furthermore, I don't care about your personal opinions on the topic. You are there to represent the stance on the paper, not your own.” She smiled. “Most importantly, I hope you learn something from this and have fun.”

“I drew ' _frackin_ g' and ' _for_.' I don't really know anything about the topic, so it should be interesting,” Malcolm said after class, staring at his piece of paper. “What did you get?” he asked Curtis.

“’ _Legalized abortion_ ’ and ' _for_.'”

His eyes widened. “Oh man, that's quite the topic. Super complicated issue.”

“Not really.” Curtis put on a snide voice: “ _Women's rights!_ ” He turned to face the opposite direction, still using the same ridiculous voice: “ _Babies!”_ He returned his attention to Malcolm. “Both sides in a nutshell. There you go.”

Several weeks later, Malcolm showed up at his locker before classes had started for the day. “You ready for your debate?” he asked.

Curtis frowned. “That's next week.”

Malcolm furrowed his brow. “No... pretty sure abortion is today.” He pulled out his syllabus and pointed at the schedule. “Yeah, right here. Your debate is today.” When he raised his head, his stomach twisted as the color drained from Curtis' face. “You're not joking! You actually haven't prepared!”

“Shut up!” he snapped. “I'll think of something! I have one period to put stuff together.”

“Curtis, you're going against Holly Chesterfield! Holly ' _President of Pro-Life Club_ ' Chesterfield!” Malcolm wailed. “The majority of your grade is relying on this!”

“I already told you, I'll figure something out!” Curtis repeated, although panic was evident in his eyes.

Malcolm left with a pit in his stomach. The only chance Curtis had was if Holly based all her arguments on her religion. One of the most popular girls in school, everyone knew Holly as the poor soul who overcompensated for her outspoken love of Jesus by partying until she blacked out, and vice versa. It was an interesting cycle.

When Debate started, Malcolm walked into the classroom and headed toward his seat in the arranged circle. While he and the others sat on the edges, the two people debating would stand in the center to allow Ms. Bittner and the students to write down critiques of style, arguments, and logic—the combined evaluation would then determine the final grade.

Watching everyone file into the room, Malcolm tried to force himself to take normal breaths. Hopefully, this wouldn't be too much of a trainwreck.

Once everyone assembled, Ms. Bittner nodded at Holly and the slightly flustered-looking Curtis. Holly volunteered to go first, lip-gloss smile and even glossier hair giving off a portrait of confidence. She spoke well, and Malcolm’s stomach sank as her argument progressed. She wasn’t relying on Christian principles, and instead spoke about ramifications on the disabled and mentally ill, even bringing up sex-selective abortions in other countries.

Gazing around at each member of the class, she finished, “But I also have a very personal reason why I believe abortion to be wrong. My parents were in a bad financial situation when I was conceived; they deliberated and decided to keep me. Therefore, I am proof before you that abortion doesn't just hurt women, it ends lives.”

Malcolm tried to hide a smile and glanced at Ms. Bittner. Her face was unreadable, but the last comment had to get points taken off for appeal to emotion. She had specifically told them not to do that.

Meanwhile, Curtis shuffled through several sheets of paper, staring blankly. Ms. Bittner cleared her throat, and he mumbled, “Yeah... that's good... and all. But my opponent fails to realize... like... bodily autonomy. You can't force someone to carry a kid... against their will. It violates their, you know, right to choose. 'Specially with like... rape and stuff.”

“I already provided points against those arguments. You're not saying anything new,” Holly snipped.

“Well..." He licked his lips. "They're really good arguments, so I think you should argue against them again...”

She scoffed. “Ms. Bittner, my opponent is obviously unprepared. Does this even need to continue?”

Ms. Bittner glanced up from writing on a paper. “We're going to stay here the whole period, Holly. Let him speak.”

Rolling her eyes, Holly muttered under her breath, “This is such a waste of time. The idiot can't debate to save his life.”

Curtis took on a far different demeanor at the comment. The uncomfortable nervousness vanished from his face. Instead, he stared at his opponent, mouth set in a rigid line. “All right, you know what?” he stated. “You want a good argument for why abortion should be allowed? Huh?” He gestured at her. “Exhibit A. That's all I got. Thanks for your attention, everybody.”

He strode straight to his usual seat and sat down while a few titters sounded from the class and Holly's mouth opened wide in surprised offense.

Someone called out, “You can't have only one piece of supporting evidence.”

To this, Curtis jerked his head in their direction, spitting out, “Thanks for the help, Exhibit B!”

Laughter erupted from the class. Malcolm sank lower and lower into his seat while Ms. Bittner, hands on her face, murmured in an exhausted voice, “Curtis, please step outside. I will speak to you after class.”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm already going,” he grumbled, zipping up his backpack.

Afterward, Ms. Bittner took some pity on him and let him do a paper for extra credit. He still got a D in the class though, and Holly never forgave him for his comment.

***

After what felt like an eternity, Malcolm paid for his lunch and hurried to his usual spot. Curtis sat down soon after and didn't even bother looking at him, too absorbed in his meal. Along with the usual hot tray items, he’d also acquired several vending machine snacks, although at the current rate of consumption it wouldn't last long.

Malcolm watched the display for a moment, mouth open, his own lunch temporarily forgotten. Curtis finally registered his presence after eating the last bite of a meatball and mumbled out a “ _what?_ ” with a mouth full of sauce and meat.

“Hey... uh...” he began, appetite nosediving as concern overrode all other feelings. “I... I've been meaning to talk to you...” As Curtis' expression darkened, he blurted, “I'm not judging you at all! It's just... I'm a little worried, since you've been eating quite a bit since the Lab and well...”

“So?” Curtis snapped.

Taken aback, Malcolm blinked a couple times.

Spooning some veggies into his mouth, Curtis swallowed and continued, “Just because I have a bigger appetite doesn't mean there's something wrong. If I happened to sneeze a couple times today, you would think it's a problem because you're so freaked out about the stuff that spilled. Well, chill, will you? You have a pretty big appetite, yet I don't claim to be 'worried' every time you eat.”

“Um... all right then.”

Malcolm chewed his food slowly as Curtis practically inhaled the rest of the items on his tray. He got up once finished, and Malcolm sat alone for a few minutes, pondering the current scenario.

When Curtis returned, he had just as much food as the first time and immediately dug in. To distract himself from the uncharacteristic lunch behavior, Malcolm brought up _Steins;Gate_ , to which Curtis listened attentively, his mouth too full to offer much in the way of conversation.

Later, Malcolm had to physically bite his lip to avoid making a comment when Curtis got up and returned with a third tray of food.

He appeared crestfallen as he muttered, “Can't believe I spent this much money on a crappy school lunch.”

That didn't stop him from finishing it though.

***

“ _As the pressure within the lungs is less than the pressure outside, air moves inward, where gas exchange can occur_ ,” the narrator in the video said as a computer-generated image of a lung expanded. “ _After this, the pressures equalize and expiration happens passively without much muscular involvement; air leaves, deflating the lungs and resetting the pressure to a negative level, thus allowing the cycle to continue_.” The image deflated and a blue substance filled the sac around the lungs, the computer-generated image struggling to inflate. “ _In some instances, like pneumothorax—which is air in the pleural space—the lungs cannot expand to full capacity. This reduces gas exchange and limits the amount of available oxygen. In severe cases of pneumothorax, such as a deep penetrating wound to the chest cavity, the lungs can even collapse, eventually leading to shock and possibly cardiac failure._ ”

Malcolm watched in fascination as the computer-generated lung collapsed and a red skull-and-crossbones appeared on the screen.

Dr. Reeder exited out of Chrome and gave a short laugh. “So remember kids—if you get stabbed in the chest, go to the hospital right away. You can't shrug it off as easily as they do in the movies, and a collapsed lung is nothing to sneeze at, pardon the pun.” He chuckled dryly, and a few half-hearted giggles sounded throughout the room.

Not long after, the bell rang and he dismissed the class, calling toward their retreating backs, “Make sure to start on your projects soon. Don’t leave it until last minute!”

While everyone else hurried out, Malcolm took his time getting his things together. He slowly loaded up his backpack and, when the room was suitably empty, approached Dr. Reeder's desk.

The man looked up at him, eyes crinkling with a smile. “What can I do you for, Malcolm?”

Shifting his feet, he fiddled with his shirtsleeve. “I... uh... just had a couple questions... about a medical issue...”

Dr. Reeder cocked an eyebrow.

“I was wondering... is it normal for a person to suddenly have a much greater appetite?”

“Do you find yourself hungry to the point that it interferes with your daily life?”

He shook his head. “Oh no, I'm not asking for me, sir. I just... noticed someone who never ate that much is suddenly eating quite a lot. They seem okay besides that, but... still...”

Stroking his snow-white beard, Dr. Reeder responded, “Well... if they were also experiencing frequent urination, my first differential would be diabetes.”

“Diabetes!”

“It might not be that. Multiple things can cause polyphagia—or elevated appetite and consumption of food. Diabetes is one of them. Hyperthyroidism could also cause it, but you mentioned the person is fine besides their appetite. Sleeping Beauty Syndrome also displays signs of polyphagia, but that's kind of a zebra case.” He folded his hands in front of him on his desk. “It could be, since you are in high school and going through puberty, that this person is just experiencing a growth spurt. An elevated appetite would be perfectly consistent with that.”

Malcolm's eyebrows shot up at the word “growth.” All day he'd been trying to pinpoint why Curtis looked different, and perhaps this was the reason. He made a mental note to confirm this the next time he saw him.

Giving a slight cough, he asked, “And so this would be perfectly normal... right?”

“Well yes, growth spurts are usually normal. There are rare cases like Robert Wadlow that are abnormal, but you don't see that too often.”

Malcolm furrowed his brow. “Robert... Wadlow?”

Dr. Reeder laughed at his reaction. “I forget my age sometimes.” Smiling, he pulled out his phone. “Robert Wadlow was better known as the Alton Giant. He had a tumor in his pituitary gland that caused constant and excessive release of somatotropin, the growth hormone. He was, and still is, the tallest man on record, measured at eight feet and eleven inches at his death. However, experts believe he was probably not done growing.”

Malcolm's jaw dropped as Dr. Reeder showed him his phone, the screen displaying an image of an enormous man in a suit towering over a companion who only reached up to his waist. An amused Dr. Reeder commented, “The man next to him is his father.”

“Holy cow!” Malcolm exclaimed. He turned to his teacher in awe, still trying to digest that such a human being could exist.

_But wait... what about the tumor?_

“Um... one last question, and then I have to go to Gym.” When Dr. Reeder nodded, Malcolm pressed on: “Is there any kind of substance that could cause a tumor in the pituitary... or anywhere else really... or a substance that could cause increased appetite?”

Dr. Reeder frowned, concentrating. “Certain medications can increase appetite and carcinogens can cause tumors. It depends on what the person has been exposed to.”

Malcolm nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

He turned to leave when Dr. Reeder stopped him. “Here, you're going to be late. I'll write you a pass so you don't get yelled at.” He winked, and Malcolm thanked him once again.

Upon exiting, he stared at the note as he walked, the written words not registering in his brain. He didn’t know if he felt better or worse after that talk.

***

Malcolm ducked as a ball sailed over his head right before another smacked him squarely in the thigh—struck out by the opposite team. Walking off the basketball court, he then sat on the sidelines as a couple of people cheered. Others continued to taunt their opponents amidst the ricochet of rubber off linoleum.

He had been late to Gym on dodgeball day, meaning he had to endure a minute of both teams arguing over who got stuck with him. Coach Pierson had finally ordered a team to take him, and Malcolm wished he knew how to fake a heart attack so he could go to the hospital instead of facing the annoyed groans.

As he watched the game play out in front of him, other thoughts preoccupied him. He hadn't yet had a chance to test his hypothesis and analyze if Curtis was actually any taller, and it made him antsy just sitting around.

In the meantime, he stared at the guy as he attempted to dodge the high-speed missiles thrown by the other side. Malcolm couldn't tell from the distance as to Curtis' height but was more struck by his behavior. Curtis hated Gym even more than him—he _never_ participated. However, today he actually dodged and grabbed balls to throw back. Even more surprising, he was getting a good number of people out.

Eventually, Curtis and four other people on his team struck out the last member of the opposing side. Half of the class cheered while Couch Pierson blew his whistle and shouted for everyone to clean up.

As the students meandered into the locker rooms, Coach Pierson clapped Curtis on the shoulder. “Great hustle out there today, Henderson! I want to see more of that in the future. You've been holding back on me.”

Curtis gave a strained smile and hurried off into the locker room.

Malcolm followed him and let out a deep breath. If this had been a normal day, he would have hung out by his assigned Gym locker and tried to waste as much time as possible until the room was empty. But today was not a normal day—today, he wanted to figure out what the heck was going on with Curtis Henderson.

Squaring his shoulders, Malcolm wandered over to where Curtis was and gazed intently at his back. He had already grabbed a towel and removed his shirt, revealing a pale, thin torso. A pink scar on his shoulder twisted out of view, the flesh puckered and uneven, while several others on his lower back were in Malcolm's direct sight. It always made his skin crawl to see them, but he forced himself to examine him, to try to see if his height was truly what had been driving him mad all day.

He cocked his head as Curtis continued undressing. He couldn't see the upper locker's combination lock as Curtis' head obstructed it, and he could have sworn that in the past it was always visible. Did this mean—?

Curtis turned around—now clad only in his boxers—and jumped, holding his clothes in front of him. “Holy fuck, dude, you scared the shit out of me!” He narrowed his eyes. “Were you watching me get undressed?”

“No, no, no!” Malcolm waved his arms. “I was just wondering if you wanted to play some _Overwatch_ after school?” He gave an awkward smile as Curtis stared.

“Yeah... okay,” Curtis said, backing away. “Though I don't know why you had to ask me when I'm practically naked.”

“Uh... sorry! Continue!” Malcolm hurried away before the other boy could reply, mentally kicking himself over and over.

***

Malcolm closed the door behind them, the quiet of the house broken only by Cooper’s distant barking from his crate. Curtis flinched at the noise, and Malcolm turned to face him, a strained smile stretching his features. “Hey... I have a favor I wanted to ask you...”

Curtis nodded and eyed him warily as he tried and failed to appear as innocent as possible.

“I have this hypothesis... kind of... somewhat... and I'd like to... you know... test it—aw, just come upstairs.”

“You are weirding me out big time, dude,” Curtis muttered but followed him obediently.

Once upstairs, Malcolm ran and grabbed a tape measure from his parents' closet. He then hurried into his own room, where Curtis sat on the bed.

At the sight of the object, he leaned back, uncomfortable suspicion written all over his face. “Okay, now I'm actually concerned. What the fuck is your favor that I need to do?”

“I want to measure you,” Malcolm answered, pulling out some of the tape.

Curtis' eyes went wide. “Dude, the fuck! Like, I'm cool with a lot of things, but I'm not just going to whip out my—”

“I don't want to see your dick, you perv!” he shot back, face contorting in disgust. “I just want to see how tall you are!”

“Oh...” Curtis appeared sheepish before a puzzled frown overtook it. “Why?”

Malcolm exhaled “My hypothesis is... the reason you're eating so much is because you're in the middle of a growth spurt. I want to see if it's true.”

“Um... okay... but I've only been eating a lot for one day. You're not going to notice any kind of difference even if that is true.”

“Just stand up, will you? And take your shoes off,” Malcolm sighed.

Curtis obliged, and he set the tape measure on the ground, pulling it out until he was level with the top of the guy's head.

He gazed at the marking on the tape. “You're about 5'1, right?”

“5'1 and ½,” Curtis snapped.

“Well...” he started, not fully processing what he was reading, “this tape measure says you're 5'4 and ½.”

“What!? Let me see!” Curtis cried out, snatching the tape away before Malcolm even had a chance to react. He stared at it, a smile unfolding on his face. “This is fucking fantastic! Like... holy shit, I can't even believe this!” Dropping the object, he then clasped his hands together in excitement, practically radiating giddiness.

Malcolm did not. Still reeling, he picked up the tape measure. “Curtis... this is not fantastic...”

Curtis frowned, expression hardening. “What do you mean? Of course it is. I hate being so fucking short. This is the best news I could possibly get.”

An incredulous frown crossed Malcolm’s face. “You grew three inches in one day. That is not normal by any stretch of the imagination.”

He shrugged. “Puberty is making up for being late.”

“Right after you get doused in some unknown formula!”

“Correlation doesn't equal causation!” he retorted, and Malcolm sputtered.

As much as he hated to admit it, Curtis had a point, and even though it was highly unlikely the two events were unrelated, he didn't have any definitive proof they were.

“Okay... fine... we'll just assume the formula was a coincidence...” he relented as a smirk appeared on Curtis' face. _You just happened to grow three whole inches in the course of twenty-four hours naturally. Because that makes total sense._

Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, Curtis stuck his hands in his pockets. “All right... now that we have that settled, how about we play some freaking _Overwatch?_ ” He grinned. “Because that was totally the reason why you were so interested in me coming over, right?”

Malcolm sighed and got the game ready, grabbing two controllers. They played for a little bit, but his mind kept wandering to the tape measure and the strange chemical, even after Curtis left.

This wasn't normal; he was sure of it. He just hoped it didn't get any worse.


	6. A Proper Adventure

Staring out into space, Bianca smiled as wide as she could. She raised her pom-poms above her head while one leg extended into the air. At this height, she could almost see over the roof of the school to the row of houses that lay beyond with their flowerbeds, their backyards, their inhabitants.

“Great job!” Ms. Emerson whistled, clapping hard.

Bianca’s teammates tossed her into the air, then caught her as the pyramid dismantled.

Wiping sweat from her brow, Amanda grinned at Bianca once she was safely on the ground. “Not bad! We're going to kick ass on Saturday!”

She grinned back. “You know it!”

Now that practice was over, Ms. Emerson gathered the squad around for one more huddle. Everyone placed their hands in the middle and cheered—“ _SABERS!_ ”—before heading inside to the locker room for showers.

A few minutes later, Bianca finished up and turned off the water, a swirling whirlpool forming at the drain. Wrapping a towel around herself, she made her way to her locker, pulling out her gym bag to rifle through for clothes.

Holly stood nearby, similarly wrapped, but with her hair rolled into a towel as well. She gave a small smile to Bianca. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you briefly.”

Bianca nodded for her to continue, internally bracing herself. _Dear God, please let this be painless…_

“So I wanted to say something yesterday, but I chickened out. Anyway, at this point, we obviously both know we've been nominated for Homecoming Queen.” She paused as Bianca squeezed some water out of her hair, then pressed on: “I just wanted to say, whoever wins, let's not let it get in the way of our friendship. So... no hard feelings?” She held out her hand.

Bianca grasped it, smiling. “No hard feelings. You would totally deserve it if you won.” She made sure to maintain eye contact throughout the whole thing and hoped it appeared sincere, hoped Holly wouldn’t notice her discomfort.

Holly smiled in return, but with a somewhat distant gaze. She returned her attention back to getting dressed, and Bianca did the same, albeit more rushed.  _Please don’t let Holly overthink what I said. Please don’t get offended somehow. Just let me leave._

Once fully clothed, Bianca walked toward the Wesley High parking lot, absorbed in her own thoughts. If she was being honest, she wished this week would be over with already. September had been a bit of a rough month, and the constant practices, along with getting ready for the game and school spirit and whatnot, didn't give her much time to reflect on the pressing issue of—

 _Oh!_ Her worried musings took a backseat as she spotted a slender girl—wearing sunglasses and an ecstatic grin—leaning against a blue Camry. Chelsea straightened as Bianca grew closer, running a hand through a purple streak in the front of her chin-length, brown hair.

“Hey, bella!” she called out, and Bianca laughed in return.

“Hey to you too!” she called back, sprinting forward for a hug.

Once separated, Chelsea laughed. “I don’t know how your hair can look so good when wet.”

“Well, that top is soooo cute!” Bianca gushed, glancing down at her friend's sheer tank top layered over a low-cut blue shirt.

Chelsea twirled and giggled. “I know, just got it. And the best part is my parents _hate_ it.”

This elicited an eye roll from Bianca, but Chelsea didn’t seem to care.

“I'll let you borrow it sometime if you want,” she offered.

Bianca smiled but shook her head. “I'd love to, I would... but I don't know if I could pull off that kind of look...” She gave a chagrined glance down at her chest, smile turning sheepish.

As adorable as the top looked on Chelsea, it would appear obscene on her, and—quite frankly—she didn't need any more of that kind of attention. Lord knows, she got too much of it already.

Chelsea nodded, opening up the driver’s side door. “Sometimes I'm glad the Boob Fairy did kind of a half-assed job on me.”

After they buckled up in the sedan, they peeled off, the school fading out of sight as they made a turn at the end of the street.

Shaking her head, Bianca brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I had kind of an awkward conversation with Holly after practice.”

Chelsea raised an eyebrow.

“She told me she didn't want there to be hard feelings between us regardless of who won Homecoming Queen. I got kind of the impression that she didn't think I would win.”

Chelsea snorted in derision. “If you lose to Holly freaking Chesterfield, I'll eat my shoes.”

Bianca sighed. “She can have it.” To Chelsea's shocked face, she shrugged. “It sounds like it'd be less drama if she won and, honestly, I'm sick of drama. Also, let's face it; Holly could win an award for holding a grudge.”

“Bianca! I know a lot of sucky things have happened recently, but you shouldn't give up the chance of being Homecoming Queen just to please people.”

Cracking a wry smile, Bianca rested her hand in her chin. “Since when do you care about that kind of stuff?”

“Since my best friend got nominated.”

They both laughed at this, loud and genuine, and Bianca relaxed against her seat as their car rolled to a stop. This was exactly what she needed—time to get away from the world of football and cheerleading with someone who’d been there since childhood. Her spirit already felt lighter.

Chelsea cleared her throat a minute later. “But seriously, don't let that princess take away your spotlight. If anybody deserves that title, it's you; and personally, I'd love to see the look on Holly's face when she doesn't get her way.” She glanced over. “You know, she was going around to a bunch of people during lunch today telling them to vote for her. What a skeez.”

Bianca shrugged again. “I don't care if she does stuff like that. And honestly, she can be decent when she wants to,” she asserted, to which Chelsea shot her a scowl.

“Sure, she's fine when she isn't telling you you're going to Hell.” With pursed lips, she gripped the steering wheel tighter, her already fair-skinned knuckles turning white from the effort.

Bianca grimaced. “Okay, you got a point there. Sorry.”

Chelsea sighed, expression softening. “It doesn't matter. I don't care about her.” Scratching the side of her neck, she asked, “So how was the rest of practice besides Jesus' number one fan?”

“ _’Number one?’_ Hey, I’m a pretty big fan too,” Bianca laughed.

The reply earned a grin from Chelsea. “Yeah, but I like you better. So...?”

“It was fine. How's Yearbook been going?”

Chelsea’s face broke into a scowl, and she slammed her hand against the steering wheel. “Kyle Gibbon is driving me crazy! I asked him to interview people on what they thought of the Homecoming activities throughout the week, and he still hasn't started! It's Tuesday!” She threw her head back and groaned. “I can't wait for this freaking week to be over!”

Bianca giggled as the other girl continued to rant. Still listening, she gazed out the window as they made their way down Fifth Street, the home of so many familiar landmarks: the old donut shop, the dentist's office, the mechanic, a liquor store. Finally, they stopped in front of their destination, _Miss Marcy's Consignment Shop_.

They exited the vehicle, and Bianca closed her door with a bump from her hip. “Thanks again for taking me here. With practice and everything going on, I was getting kind of freaked out that I wouldn't get a dress!” _Not to mention Adam..._

“No problem.” Chelsea pulled off her sunglasses and jogged up to the store's entrance. “I was kind of feeling the same.”

A bell tinkled as they walked inside the main area, filled with neatly folded piles of colorful clothes and rows of accessories. A woman wearing a bright purple dress and horn-rimmed glasses looked up at them as they entered, smiling. She led them into the back, where several racks full of dance-worthy dresses hung like flower bouquets, then headed back toward her post.

Quiet settled over them as they combed through the dresses, both absorbed in the activity.

“So you going with anybody to the dance?” Bianca finally asked, pausing to admire an off-the-shoulder green gown.

“Technically. I'm going with Elijah Kossler.”

She furrowed her brow. “Wait... isn't he...?”

Chelsea smirked. “Yep. We're going to take pictures at my house before going to a park so he can take some with his boyfriend. But he told me that I still count as his date too.”

Bianca nodded, pulling out a gold dress with a poofy skirt. “Ah, I see. Warren Veatch asked me to go, and I said yes. He seems nice enough, but I can't say that I know him that well.”

“Yeah, I haven't heard too much about him either.” Chelsea grabbed a short, white silk dress with a sweetheart neckline, as well as a light pink one. She pivoted toward a dressing room. “I'm going to try these on.”

Bianca snagged a scarlet gown and hurried after her.

Inside the dressing room, Bianca pulled the garment over her head, zipping up the back. She adjusted the straps, then exited to ask for a second opinion. It didn’t take long to find.

A frowning Chelsea examined herself in a mirror set against the wall. Fingering the hem of her silk skirt, she mouthed some silent critique.

Bianca gasped playfully. “Chelsea, that looks amazing on you!” She clapped her hands in front of her mouth while the other girl gaped at her.

“You should see yourself!” She placed a hand over her heart. “I think I'm in love. I've finally succumbed to your beauty. It's too powerful.”

Bianca laughed in response, blowing her a kiss. Chelsea caught the imaginary action and pretended to swoon while Bianca laughed again at her over-the-top display.

Yes, this was exactly what she needed.

***

With their newly acquired purchases hanging in the back seat, their car parked on the side of the street in the quiet suburban neighborhood. Bianca waited for Chelsea to lock the vehicle, basking in the cool October air, then headed with her to the front door of the house.

As soon as she entered, an excited cry of “ _Bianca está aquí!_ ” exploded from within. She happily greeted her younger brothers when they raced into the front hallway, then proceeded to the living room to give Abuela a quick kiss on the cheek. After a brief conversation in Spanish about the events of her day, she hurried into the kitchen.

“Where should I put our dresses?” Chelsea called from the front hallway.

Bianca tied her hair back before shouting, “Just hang them on the closet door. My mom will probably want to see them.” She returned her focus to the faded recipe sitting on the kitchen table. All right, what to do first?

As she chopped vegetables, Chelsea sauntered into the room. “You psyched about the Homecoming theme?”

Bianca shrugged. “I guess. It’s space-themed, right?”

“Uh huh.” Chelsea grinned. “Which means aliens are fair game for decorations. Brad says he’s trying to convince STUCO to let him put up a Xenomorph cut-out.”

“I don’t know what that is.” Bianca pureed some peppers in a blender.

“It’s… you know what, never mind. I don’t think you’ve seen _Alien._ ” Chelsea glanced down at the cutting board on the table. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Absolutely not!”

Bianca nearly jumped at the emphatic response, and Chelsea also jerked as Mamá strode into the room.

She rested a hand on Chelsea’s shoulder. “You are our guest, and I won’t have you slaving away.” She turned to face Bianca. “You should hang out with your friend. I can handle dinner until your _papá_ gets home.”

The salt shaker hovered over the pepper puree as Bianca regarded her. Mamá looked well-rested. She’d applied a little bit of eyeliner to her eyes, highlighting her regal beauty, which even the short, gray chemo curls couldn’t tarnish. Most likely she felt well enough for Bianca to let her do this. But then again…

Bianca glanced back at the salt shaker. She’d already started. It couldn’t hurt to finish.

“Oh, Sofia.” Chelsea rushed back to the front hallway, then returned bearing the dresses. “Look what we got!”

“ _Precioso!_ ” Beaming, Mamá examined the garments, then shot Bianca a look. “ _Voy a cocinar la cena. Ve a divertirte._ ”

So stubborn. Still, Bianca couldn’t help but smile as she set the salt shaker down. “If you insist.” After releasing her hair from its prison, she hugged Mamá, who beamed again before shooing her and Chelsea from the room.

As they secured the dresses back on the front closet door, a small boy emerged from around the corner. He shyly tugged Chelsea’s shirt. When she noticed the source of the stimulation, he handed her a flower before turning scarlet and scurrying away.

Bianca stifled a laugh as Chelsea twirled the gift between her fingers.

“Oh, if only all boys were as sweet as Carlitos…” She tucked the flower into her hair, then raced past Bianca to the staircase.

A moment later, they were both lying on Bianca’s bed. Her sister’s half of the room was deserted, but judging by the mess of books and papers on the desk, she’d be back soon.

Chelsea sat up, leaning against a _Chainsmokers_ poster. “Carlos is so cute. I wish I had younger brothers instead of Zach and Michael.” She made a face. “I don't know how somebody can go to college and still be a diehard Republican, but somehow they manage.”

Resting her chin on her fists, Bianca said, “Can’t tell you, Chels. Maybe they want to be different, or,” she smiled knowingly, “maybe it’s just how they were raised.”

“Don’t remind me,” Chelsea grumbled. She stood up, walking over to Bianca's dresser and pausing at the sight of a framed picture. Wetting her lips, she ran a hand through the front of her hair. A sign Bianca knew all too well.

She tensed. “What are you thinking about?”

Chelsea shrugged. “Nothing important.”

“You looked like you were going to say something.”

“Well…” Chelsea tipped the photo of Bianca and Adam so that it lay face-down. “You know you can’t avoid him forever—”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Bianca snapped. Her heart sank as Chelsea pursed her lips. “I’m sorry. I'm just… sensitive today.”

Chelsea shook her head. “No, you’re right. It’s not my place.” She traced a finger over the various knickknacks on the dresser before plucking up a dance trophy next to a few Junior Sharpshooter certificates. “Man, I remember this. How old were we? Kindergarten?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I got bad news.” She held the object up, examining the inscription. “The Performing Arts Center is closing. Apparently, funding is being cut, and there's not enough donations to keep the place afloat.”

As she sat up, a frown clouded Bianca's features. “What!?”

“Yeah, but it's okay... because we're finally going to get a Target.” Chelsea's look of disdain would have been noticeable from a mile away, and Bianca almost cracked up at its intensity. Returning the trophy to its spot behind a family photo in Mexico, Chelsea collapsed back onto the bed. “I hate that the little community places are always the ones to go under.” She sighed heavily. “This is why I'm really looking forward to college. All of the schools I'm applying to are in actual cities, where they have museums and art galleries and theaters.” She smirked. “And multiple Targets.”

Bianca chuckled. “I don't know if a city could handle you.”

“I am an absolute treasure; any city would be lucky to have me.”

Smiling, she said, “Couldn't agree more. Wesley won't be the same without you.” She examined her fingernails as an unexpected wave of emotion washed over her, the thought of eye contact suddenly unbearable. Everything was happening so fast, all at once. Would this year be the death of her?

Chelsea propped herself up, resting a hand on Bianca’s shoulder. Her voice took on a faraway quality: “You'll have to come visit me, of course. Can't have a proper adventure without you.”

Bianca nodded, an amiable quiet settling over the room after the last comment. Regardless of whether or not it happened, the sentiment was all that mattered.


	7. Dude, It's Two A.M.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to fvi! You're awesome!

A depleted energy drink fell off the desk as Malcolm opened up his laptop. He picked it up, then rolled his eyes as soon as the background appeared—Curtis had set it to some ridiculous picture of his face, probably taken when he had watched  _RWBY_  on Monday _._ With a small smile, Malcolm fixed his background before heading to the Internet, shifting the notebook and pencils laid out in front of him. His mind wasn't actually focused on the task, but he needed to start this project at some point or another.

After clicking on a couple links, he read a few articles about mimicry—there were some cool pictures of butterflies with markings intended to appear like snakes—and jotted down some notes. Dr. Reeder had assigned him to research communication in animals and wanted a wide range of examples.

“ ** _I made the topics intentionally broad,_** ” he had told the class. “ ** _You don't need to get too detailed; just give me the main points, but don't slack off either._** ”

Malcolm next moved on to pheromones. He clicked on an article titled “ _Flehmen Response_ ” and laughed at a picture of a horse with its upper lip raised to reveal its teeth and gums. The creature looked ridiculous, but the explanation was pretty fascinating—many animals used that movement to direct scents to what was called a vomeronasal organ, usually in the instance of inferring information or seeking out a potential mate. The article also said there was debate among experts as to whether or not humans had a functioning one, with the research status currently inconclusive.

He had just stumbled upon a new article on reptilian olfactory toxins—which talked about how some species incapacitated their prey through pheromone exploitation—when Cooper pushed his door open, bounding over to place his white paws on Malcolm's lap.

Mom followed not far behind. “Hey, honey, I was going to take Coop here for a walk; do you want to come along?”

Malcolm absentmindedly stroked the soft fur, then nodded. “Yeah... that sounds nice. I'd like that a lot.”

They made their way downstairs—Mom calling to Dad that they were leaving—and then headed outside to face the setting sun. A chilly breeze made Malcolm shiver, and Mom sent him back inside for a jacket.

Once he returned, Cooper tugged at his leash, eager to move forward. Mom pulled the dog back and scolded in a baby voice, “Don't do that, sweetie. You know I don't like it!”

They started walking, with Mom chattering about moving the gladioli before winter and Cooper still pulling as hard as he could. When they crossed onto the sidewalk, she offered Malcolm the leash. He accepted, reining in the excited little terrier every time he tried to rush too far ahead.

“You've been kind of quiet the past couple days, sweetie. Is everything okay?”

Mom’s question startled him, and he jerked. “Oh! Yeah... no... I'm fine. Just a little worried about school.”

There was no way he was ever going to tell her about wandering all over the Lab. Even less chance he'd mention the accident.

She beamed at him. “Well, you’ve always been a hard worker, honey. Your dad and I are so proud of you.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

They crossed the street, and she inquired, “So how was school today?”

“It was fine. AP Bio Lab was really interesting. We did a couple of experiments using balloons and then watched a video.”

Nodding along to his story, she asked, “Isn't Homecoming this week? I saw the banner outside your school. You should go!”

He fidgeted. “Well... actually, I made plans to hang out with Curtis that night.” A brief flicker of disappointment crossed her face, so he hurriedly asked, “How was your day?”

She let out a sigh. “Oh... it was all right. There was a company-wide meeting this morning about security. Apparently, something happened in the Restricted Area yesterday; don't know what, but the higher-ups are furious. I heard several people got fired over it, and we all got reprimanded for doing sloppy work.” She shook her head. “It was a mess. Because of it, security is being tightened quite a bit—they're adding more cameras, and putting in scanners at most of the major doors inside the building. Though I suppose it will be a good thing if it prevents something like that from happening again.” She paused and brushed her hair off to the side. “I've always wondered about why security was so lax. We don’t have a lot of visitors and it is kind of a remote location, but still—cutting corners catches up to one eventually.”

It took all of Malcolm’s willpower not to squirm as she spoke. “Oh... that's... too bad.”

He stared off into space, his insides twisting with guilt. Holy cow, he had gotten people fired! First all the strange things with Curtis, and now this.

A deep, booming bark tore him away from his internal self-flagellation as an enormous mastiff raced up to the side of the chain-link fence. It stopped next to where they were walking, letting out several forceful ‘ _woofs_ ’ at the terrified Cooper, who whined and scurried behind their legs.

“Oh, get out of here, you bully!” Mom shouted and picked up the shaking terrier. She scowled. “I don't think poor Cooper is going to be able to continue walking. He's way too scared. Is it all right if we head home?”

Malcolm gave his consent, and they made their way back as the sun finished setting, casting the world in a blanket of shadow.

***

_What... is that... who’s calling me? Huh? Wha—_

Malcolm groaned as the Ariana Grande song roused him. Blinking blearily, he grabbed the vibrating phone on his nightstand, shielding his eyes from the blinding light.

“Hello?” he croaked after pressing the green button.

“Oh shit. I was a little scared you wouldn't answer, but Malcolm, you wild son of a gun, you pulled through!”

Scrunching his face at Curtis' exuberant tone, Malcolm put on his glasses before turning to his clock. “Dude, it's after two A.M. Why are you calling me?” he whispered.

“I know it's late, but I just got off work. Anyway, can I come over? I have something to show you.”

Malcolm flapped his mouth for a moment, thoughts jumbling in his head. Eventually, he hissed, “My parents are asleep. Can't this just wait until tomorrow?”

“This is worth it, I shit you not! Now can you just come let me in? I promise I'll be quiet.”

“Let you in?”

There was silence on the other line, followed by a breath being sucked in. “Yeah... so... I'm actually outside your front door. I kind of ran here right after I clocked out and then figured I should probably ask you but... yeah... I'm here.”

Malcolm groaned, rubbing his temples. “Fine. But we have to be really quiet, okay?”

“Understood! Now please let me in, I'm freezing my ass off out here!”

Without saying goodbye, Malcolm hung up. He grumbled to himself as he tiptoed out of his room and into the upstairs hallway. Dad’s snores accompanied him as he clung to the banister on the stairs, flinching every time they creaked. Upon reaching the bottom, he entered the front hallway and undid the deadbolt. _This had better be freaking worth it_.

He opened the door to Curtis—huge impressive grin and all—wearing the typical Sandy's uniform of a red polo and black slacks. At first, Malcolm just half-glared, trying to convey his extreme annoyance. But then something else clicked. He was eye-level with Curtis without the normally shorter boy standing on an elevated surface or anything. As he puzzled over this, Curtis pushed past him to shiver in the front hallway.

“Oh man, thanks a bunch. It's starting to get cold at night,” he whispered while massaging his arms.

Still at a loss for words, Malcolm guided him into the kitchen, where he flipped on the light.

A small smirk played at the corners of Curtis' lips as Malcolm's _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle_ pajamas became visible. “Cute,” he commented.

Malcolm rubbed some sleep out of his eyes. “So... what do you want to show me?”

“Can we go up to your room? The kitchen isn't really the place to do it.”

Even more baffled now, he led Curtis out of the room and upstairs to his bedroom. “Okay, now what is so important that you have to come over so late?” he asked.

Curtis headed over to his desk and grabbed the tape measure left from earlier in the day. “All right, stand still and let me measure you.”

Malcolm complied, despite his confusion, and Curtis read aloud his finding.

“You're about 5'7 and ¼. Now do me.”

Malcolm did as he was told, too drowsy to grasp the situation. As he glanced at the number on the tape, however, all traces of fatigue vanished. “Oh my God,” he said, staring in disbelief.

“What does it say? Come on!” Curtis whisper-shouted.

“5'8...” He robotically handed over the tape measure as Curtis beamed.

“Ha, I beat you! I was really hoping that was the case, but now I have proof!”

He continued to grin, the expression glued on, and Malcolm took stock of his appearance. More awake now, he could tell that Curtis' polo could barely tuck into his pants, which couldn't even cover his ankles. Everything looked about two sizes too small.

“When...” Malcolm swallowed in an attempt to clear his head, suddenly dizzy. “When did you notice this?”

“Fully noticed at work. I went home after I left your place and ate some food, then I took a nap. I got up an hour before my shift so I could work on some homework and noticed the uniform feeling weird when I got changed. About halfway through my shift, I went to the bathroom, and that's when I realized just how dramatic it was.” If possible, Curtis’ grin stretched even wider. “But that's not the craziest part. Check this out!” In one fluid motion, he untucked his shirt and yanked the article of clothing over his head.

Malcolm let out a muted yelp. “Curtis, what the heck are you—” He stopped mid-sentence as Curtis' torso came into view and instead took a step back.

“Ignore the dog attack scars,” Curtis instructed, frowning briefly at the ugly pink tissue marring part of his shoulder and abdomen. His grin returned a second later, and he stuck his hands on his hips, bringing his gaze to meet Malcolm's. “What do you think?”

For a moment, Malcolm appraised him, shifting uncomfortably at Curtis' state of undress. However, he could see why Curtis had wanted to show him so badly. His physique had always been very skinny, and Malcolm had often suspected—though Curtis would never admit it—that he was insecure about his size. But now, although still slender, there had definitely been changes since Malcolm had last seen him shirtless after class less than twelve hours earlier.

His arms bore some definition and his shoulders were a bit broader. A slight groove had formed on his chest hinting at pectorals, and—if one squinted—his abdominal muscles were faintly visible. Malcolm wouldn't have called him athletic or muscular, but he did appear toned—and, if Malcolm were being fully honest, kind of attractive.

He scratched the side of his chin. “Uh... looking good... I guess?”

Curtis snorted, removing one hand from his hip. “I look fucking great, and you know it.” He let out a small laugh. “All of this is crazy! There is like some _Spiderman_ or _Captain America_ shit happening to me because of that formula.”

Malcolm straightened at the last word. “So you are admitting that this isn't natural, and that whatever spilled on you at the Lab probably has something to do with it?”

Curtis shrugged. “Well... it is happening a bit fast for puberty...”

“Which is why you need to go to a doctor.”

He blinked at Malcolm’s sudden shift in tone. “What?”

“Curtis, we have no idea what that formula does. Comic books aren't real life—this could be potentially hazardous. Like, you've already changed a ton in just twenty-four hours. Who knows what will happen in the future? I really, _really_ think you should go to a doctor to get checked out.”

As Malcolm finished, a devious smile unfolded on Curtis' face, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don't know if I need a doctor to ' _check me out_ ' when you were doing a pretty good job of it a moment ago.”

Malcolm took a step back. “Wha-what are you talking about?” he whispered as Curtis moved forward, wrapping his arms around his neck.

The action caused his breath to hitch in his throat as the same conniving smile played on Curtis' lips, an evil gleam in his eyes.

“Don't act innocent. I saw the way you were looking.” Curtis leaned right up against him as he twisted his head away. “Do I turn you on and you're just shy, hmm?” He took on a mocking baby voice: “ _Does widdle Malcolm feel funny?_ ”

“Stop it, Curtis!” he hissed, louder than he intended. “You're being gross!”

Curtis withdrew instantly. He curled his lip while Malcolm trembled, face flushed from a strange cocktail of emotions.

“Geez, I was just joking,” he scowled. “No need for you to be so freaking sensitive.”

Looking away, Malcolm attempted to compose himself, his cheeks burning. He ignored the blood in his face and marched over to his closet, pulling out a cardboard box. “Here,” he stated, grabbing a few T-shirts and some old pants, “I got these a few months ago, but they were too small for me. They might fit better on you; the length should at least be right.” He handed over the clothing. “At the minimum, it will save you from looking like you just escaped a flood.”

Curtis nodded. “Yeah... okay... thanks. Can I try them on?”

With a sigh, Malcolm turned to face the opposite direction. He stood for a few moments listening to the faint rustle of clothes being removed and changed, then heard, “All right, I'm decent.”

When he returned his attention, he made a face as Curtis frowned down at his new outfit. It wasn't a great fit; Malcolm's clothes were still much too large for the slender guy, especially in the waist.

To demonstrate, Curtis tugged the waistband away from him with his thumb, shooting Malcolm a snide look while gesturing at the prominent gap. “Really? This was too small for you?”

“You can use a belt,” he replied, ignoring the comment.

Curtis gave an “I guess” in response. He then gave Malcolm a sheepish smile. “Could I... uh... get a snack before I go?”

Malcolm glared at him, and he dropped it.

They again tiptoed downstairs into the front hallway, Dad still snoring away. Tucking the pile of assorted clothes under his arm, Curtis said goodbye to him with a brusque, “Thanks for the stuff. Now try and get some sleep so you're not so crabby tomorrow.”

He made his way back upstairs once the now taller boy was gone, closing the door to his room behind him. Lying on his bed, he stared up at his ceiling. Part of him wanted to cry, but he shoved it away— _For once in your life, stop being such a big baby._


	8. Head in the Clouds

Adam opened the blinds and stared out into the misty gray morning. Rubbing his eyes, he then lowered himself to the floor and supported himself with his hands, extending his feet backward until he was in proper push-up position. Just an early warm-up before practice. Just something to work on discipline, to force himself to appreciate sleep more.

Once satisfied with the exercise, he exited the sole bedroom of the dingy apartment and stopped in his tracks—Momma slept on the couch in the small main room. A pang of guilt went through him. He'd been hoping the empty bed on her half of the room had been due to an early rising. Not this.

After making his way over, he squatted down beside her. He gently shook her shoulder. “Momma? Hey.”

Her dark hair bounced as she jerked, staring at him bleary-eyed. “Oh, Adam. Ya scare' me.” She yawned and stretched her arms.

“Why are you on the couch?”

She braced one hand on his shoulder to support her bad hip and stood. “Didn't want to wake ya. I know how 'portant your sleep is.”

“I can go back to sleep. You shouldn't sleep on the couch; it's not good for your back.”

She waved away his concerns. Her heavyset form ambled over to the kitchenette, where she filled the beat-up coffee maker with water and turned it on. “Do ya want some?” she asked.

He nodded, and they stood in silence for a moment, waiting for the machine to finish. Momma poured them both mugs. She left his black—just the way he liked it—and added sugar and creamer to hers.

While she stirred the brown liquid, he thanked her and raised the mug to his lips. The heat made him wince, but he ignored his tongue’s protests; time was of the essence. Despite how much he appreciated this morning ritual, he always hated what happened next.

The next step commenced as Momma cleared her throat. “You should probably get your stuff together, hmm? Your coach complained to me about you being late.”

Staring down at the mug in his hands, he braced himself, clinging to every shred of courage he possessed. He broke the ritual and murmured, “I can wait a few minutes... I want to make sure you get to work okay.”

She bristled. “I will be fine, Adam McCollum! Now, I am the parent here, and you need to go to practice. I will not have you getting your ass kicked off the team because your head's in the clouds!”

He swallowed a lump as the ritual resumed. Setting the mug down, he grabbed his backpack. When he turned to face the door, a curt nod served as his only goodbye.

After leaving the building, he shivered in the chilly morning air, his shoes disturbing the glistening dew on the tall, unkempt grass surrounding the property. He pulled out his phone to check the time, and his heart sank.

His messages were still open from last night. Staring up at him read, “ _Need space. give me time to think. for now lets just keep to ourselves.”_ He sighed, the gray morning dismally appropriate to everything going on—Bianca last night, Momma this morning...

Eventually, Wesley High loomed into view, and he turned toward his destination, the football field. He was cutting it close in regards to when practice started, but hopefully he wouldn’t get any kind of punishment, like extra laps. Coach Hamell’s practices were rough enough as it was without anything added.

Once he arrived, a tall, athletic figure came running toward him. “Yo, dude, you made it. Was getting scared I'd have to cover for you again.”

Adam shook his head, a small smile appearing at the words. “Thanks, Ethan. I'm here though.”

He reported to Coach Hamell, who seemed annoyed at his arrival time but made no comment, and then deposited his stuff in the locker room. Rejoining his team outside, he smiled as several people greeted him with fist-bumps and complicated handshakes—they had been having a good season, in no small part thanks to him. Still, despite their enthusiasm, the encouragement did little to perk up his spirits.

When everyone had settled down, Coach started them off with jumping jacks before making them run. As they did this, a stocky boy fell into step alongside Adam.

“So you got any secret tricks for this Saturday?”

He laughed. “Play hard and beat them.”

This answer seemed to satisfy Ian, who returned his attention to the course, never once noticing Adam’s suddenly stiff posture and distant gaze. This was just fine by him. The others didn’t need to be bothered with his problems, his anxiety about Saturday and the recruiters.

After finishing the warm-ups, Coach ran them through some drills. Adam focused on the exercises but caught snippets of conversation about a Homecoming after-party. Had this been a typical day, he would have wanted to learn the details—who was hosting and such—to figure out whether or not it would be any fun. However, he couldn’t make himself care about any of it today. Hell, in the long run, did any of this stuff really matter?

Finally, practice ended and Coach dismissed them to the showers. They filed into the locker room, and soon, it echoed their boisterous voices.

“So word is,” an enormous guy, Harris, began as he peeled off his shirt, “that Peter Dodson is going to pull a prank on Saturday. Trying to be like Tony Quigley a couple years ago, right?”

A few laughs went up around the room at this information. “What's he going to do? Nobody's going to top Quigley's prank! That thing was fucking nuts!” another said.

Murmurs of agreement went up, a third yelling out, “I still can't believe he got Mrs. Horst in on it. He must have bribed her or something!” Again, everyone laughed.

Adam remained quiet during the others' exchange, too absorbed in his own thoughts. His sweaty clothes stuck to his flushed skin when he went to remove them, and he internally cursed them as he struggled. Not the best distraction from his brooding.

Once finished showering, he went back to his locker to dry off, then pulled on a pair of pants. He straightened when Ethan approached, still wrapped in a towel. The lack of attire left the guy’s dark brown torso exposed to the elements, but he didn't seem to mind the frigid air.

“Hey, I been saying your name for like the last minute. You spacing out big time, man. What's on your mind?” he asked, grabbing a bottle of deodorant from his bag and applying it.

Adam shrugged. “I don't know if I want to talk about it...”

“So that means it's Bianca again.” Ethan sighed. “Bro, you need to get over her. Either just make her talk to you and confirm it's truly over, or just assume it is. Wallowing in self-pity ain’t gonna help.”

Tensing up at the words, Adam shot back, “It's not just her, okay?” He glanced around, then lowered his voice: “My mom woke up on the couch again this morning.”

The edge softened in Ethan's russet eyes. “Was she... you know...”

Sighing, Adam ran a hand through his wet hair. “I couldn't tell. She didn't seem too bad, but then again, she's good at hiding it the morning after a binge.” He stared down at his hands, slowly curling and uncurling his fist. “I don't know what's going to happen if I get a sthchol—” He stopped the word as the first syllable came out mangled. “Full ride. Like, when I go off to college, how's she going to handle living by herself? If she keeps doing this type of stuff...”

Ethan rested a hand on his shoulder. “Hey man, people will help her—you always talk about how much her co-workers love her. They're not gonna let her just waste away; and if things get any worse in the meantime, I'll help you figure something out. Don't freak out, all right?” His somber face morphed into one of glee as he grinned. “It's Homecoming week, and all you been doing is moping when you've been freaking nominated for King! Let loose a little, okay?”

Adam forced a small smile. “You were nominated too.”

He snorted. “I ain't gonna win. But you might. In fact, let's make a deal. You vote for me and I vote for you, got it?”

“Okay, deal.”

They shook on it, and Ethan clapped him on the back.

Adam pulled on his shirt, then turned back to the other boy. “Oh, I've been meaning to ask you; how was your hunting trip with your dad and sister over the weekend?”

Pulling on his clothes as well, Ethan smirked. “Changing the subject, huh?”

Adam shrugged, and Ethan shook his head before responding, “It was pretty fun. Shot a three-point buck.”

“Is that good?”

“Nah dude, but at least I got something. Better than your ass could do.”

They laughed, and Adam tried to put his worries out of his mind. It didn't work, but at least he tried.


	9. The Name's Mary, But You Can Call Me Krystal

The red hatchback came to a stop in the carpool lane, and Mom gave him a reassuring smile from the driver's seat. “All right, we're here. Have a good day at school, honey! I love you.”

“Thanks, Mom. Love you too,” Malcolm replied, internally cringing at his half-hearted tone. He couldn't muster up any more enthusiasm though—the late night visit had sapped him of most of his energy. Upon exiting, he headed into the school as the red hatchback drove off to the military lab containing a strange formula to make people grow several inches in one day. Or something like that.

After opening his locker, he absentmindedly changed out his books and then headed to Curtis' on autopilot. Truth be told, he didn't really want to see him after last night, but he was tired and not thinking. That changed quickly, for the sight that greeted him might as well have been a bucket of cold water.

Someone stood in front of Curtis' locker. Someone whom a few days ago Malcolm would have sworn couldn't be Curtis—this person was far too tall to be Curtis. And yet, there he stood, wearing the clothes Malcolm had given him the night before with his messy, brown hair loose instead of tied back into his usual short ponytail.

Malcolm stared open-mouthed, unable to form words.

The person who was apparently Curtis noticed him standing there and chuckled. He shoved the last part of a breakfast sandwich into his mouth, chewed a bit, and then said, “Oh man, that's better than I could have hoped for. You look ridiculous.”

Taken aback, Malcolm snapped, “I look ridiculous!? Have you seen yourself?”

Curtis glanced down, balling the wrapper of the finished breakfast sandwich in his fist. He had grown again since the night before—Malcolm guessed he stood about 5'10 or 5'11 now—and even Malcolm's pants seemed to be a bit too short. The shirt was another story. While not form-fitting, it did cling in the shoulders and chest due to its owner's new physique. Curtis looked like he had packed on several pounds of muscle since the last time Malcolm had seen him, moving from the category of 'toned' to 'athletic.' It was jarring, to say the least.

Curtis leaned back against his locker. “I dunno. I think I look okay; clothes could fit better, but it's not awful.”

“I'm not talking about the clothes!” Malcolm’s frustration rose, and he took a couple of deep breaths.

In that moment, as he worked on composing himself, a girl happened to pass by. She had a locker close to Curtis' and started to unpack her things when she glanced back at him with knitted brows.

Curtis nodded at her, and she frowned.

“Um... so... are you wearing, like, a bodysuit or something?”

Malcolm shrank back, concentrating on fighting off a miniature panic attack—other people were noticing the changes now, not just him.

Curtis smiled in return. “Nope,” he said. He then purred, “Meet me in the bathroom after class, and I'll show you.”

The comment made Malcolm gape while the girl's eyes went wide as saucers.

“No thanks!” she gasped and hurried away without grabbing her books.

Curtis snickered while Malcolm kept looking back and forth between the smug guy and the girl's retreating form. “Why did you do that?” he asked, his stomach sinking at the sardonic smile Curtis wore.

“Because that was hilarious.” Curtis straightened his posture and grabbed his backpack, pulling out another sandwich. “I figure, if people are going to notice, might as well make it worth their while.”

 _All right, enough is enough._ Pursing his lips together, Malcolm grabbed Curtis’ arm, making him accidentally drop the sandwich and let out a disgruntled “ _dude!_ ” He resisted as Malcolm tried to drag him into the boys' bathroom, but a glare made him reluctantly follow.

Inside, a guy was finishing up at the urinal, and Malcolm barked at him, “Hey, I need this bathroom. Would you mind leaving?”

He seemed surprised but nodded and hurried out, Curtis looking a little lost as he watched him leave. Returning his attention to Malcolm, he appeared unsure of how to handle the sudden determination.

Malcolm, however, was not unsure in the slightest. Once situated, he clasped his hands together and gestured at Curtis. “You and me—we need to talk, okay?”

“In the bathroom?”

He ignored the question. “Look, I asked Dr. Reeder about your symptoms.”

Curtis scowled. “You make me sound like I'm sick.”

“You very well could be! Curtis, I am speaking to you as seriously as I can! It is _not_ normal to grow this fast or this much!” Malcolm folded his hands together in front of his mouth. “Dr. Reeder told me about a guy named Robert Wadlow, who had a tumor in his pituitary. The guy wouldn't stop growing.” At this, Curtis tilted his head, frowning down at Malcolm as he pressed on: “He was eight feet and eleven inches at death. Eight feet!”

“That's... pretty tall,” Curtis murmured.

A touch of satisfaction went through Malcolm at the flicker of unease that passed over his face. “Yeah, it is. But what about the other thing? He had a tumor—those things that kill people. Cancer, Curtis!”

Folding his arms, Curtis glowered. “So you're saying I have cancer?”

“No! I am saying it is a possibility! Anytime there is rapid and uncontrolled cell growth, cancer is a likelihood! That's why you need to see a doctor and figure this out!”

“Even though, besides the appetite, I have no symptoms?”

He still looked unconvinced, so Malcolm reiterated his point, trying to stand his ground.

When he finished, Curtis sighed and stared at him disdainfully. “And what exactly do I tell this doctor? ' _Hey man, I was in the restricted area of this military lab; you know, somewhere I'm not supposed to be, and got splashed by some classified formula. Will you please take a look and make sure it's not cancerous?'_ Because there won't be _any_ other kinds of questions after that.”

Malcolm clenched his jaw, but his determination ebbed. Curtis did have a point about what to say. Would the doctor have to contact the Lab to treat the formula? Would they be safe? If Curtis confessed, both of them could get in a lot of trouble for going into the Restricted Area—not to mention, Mom could very well lose her job.

Trying to steel himself, he intoned, “Curtis—”

“Dude, I get that you're worried,” he interrupted, resting a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “And probably part of the reason is because you feel guilty for spilling the stuff on me. But think about this; you do tend to get anxious a lot, and so far, nothing bad has happened. Plus, if I tell the story about the Restricted Area, there could be _huge_ consequences.”

He gave what was probably supposed to be a comforting smile, but it struck Malcolm as more condescending.

“But I'll tell you what—if anything happens that seems bad, I'll go to a doctor and tell everything. How about that?”

A shudder went through Malcolm as his conscience and gut went to war. “But still... what if...”

Curtis' eyes flashed. “Why are you so hung up on this? People go to doctors when they are sick, not when good things happen to them. You wouldn't go to the doctor because you lost a few pounds, right? Yet you keep bringing it up to me, and it's actually pissing me off a little. So far, this has been awesome for me, and you just want to bitch. Well, friends are supposed to be happy for each other.” He narrowed his eyes. “Isn't that right?”

Malcolm’s voice died in his throat; Curtis was right. Guilt had been eating him alive over spilling the formula, and besides—he didn't have any evidence that Curtis would suffer negative repercussions. He had just been freaking out over any kind of change whatsoever... and he had to admit, Curtis did look pretty good...

“I...” Malcolm glanced away, suddenly wishing Curtis would move his hand away from his shoulder. “I guess... that sounds good...”

“Great!” Curtis flashed his impressive grin and moved toward the door. “Now come on, or we're going to be late to class.”

***

First period dragged on, yet Malcolm still jerked at the bell. After grabbing his books, he headed toward the Commons—he had a free this period, and this English paper wasn’t going to write itself.

A couple moments later, a few people around him let out annoyed grunts. He looked up as Curtis shoved his way through the crowd to be next to him.

“Shit, class was a riot! Everybody was so confused and kept looking at me.” Curtis laughed. “You should have seen it.”

Malcolm noted a few people in the hall giving them quizzical glances, a couple even doing double takes, but most paid no heed. Grinning nervously, he said, “Um... yeah... wish I could have been there...”

They made their way through the hallways, Curtis chattering on about something or other. Malcolm's mind was elsewhere, and he gave a few nods now and then to give the impression he was listening. Truthfully, he couldn't shake how unnatural it felt to be walking next to Curtis, yet stand several inches shorter than him. _Just something I'm going to have to get used to..._

They were almost to the Commons when—passing by the sophomore lockers—a blonde girl with pink-tipped hair dropped a huge stack of books all over the floor. “Aw crap,” she cried out, bending over and grabbing as much as she could.

Curtis and Malcolm stopped to help her clean up, after which she thanked both of them.

“No problem. Always willing to help a cute girl out,” Curtis quipped, and she blushed, revealing braces as she smiled.

Malcolm just made a face at the comment.

Giggling, she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “So you think I'm cute?”

Both of them blinked at her question. A smile unfurled on Curtis' face while Malcolm shifted his weight uneasily—even with his lack of experience, he knew flirting when he saw it.

Nodding, Curtis replied, “Well, I was actually thinking 'sexy,’ but I figured 'cute' might be less offensive.”

The girl blushed even harder, lowering her eyelashes, and Malcolm cringed before trying to sneak past the pair.

“Uh... well, I'll be in the Commons if you need me,” he muttered. Curtis gave a slight nod, and he left the two alone to talk, finishing up the last part of his journey.

In the Commons, he found a couch and sat down, unpacking a notebook and some pencils. He could start creating a draft for his paper; that was totally doable.

A loud burst of laughter from a few couches down startled him, and he turned to where a group of several boys joked together. The exchange looked fun, and—staring down at his blank notebook—he couldn't help the pang of envy. _Just focus on your paper_.

It was easier said than done.

***

Curtis never once showed up during the free period. Apparently, he must have hit it off pretty good with the sophomore girl. However, Malcolm found out just how good when he went to his locker to dump his books in preparation for his next class. A slightly tousled-looking Curtis showed up, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Malcolm,” he breathed, eyes practically sparkling from excitement, “you are not going to going to believe what happened last period.”

Placing a book in his locker, Malcolm braced himself and asked, “What happened?”

“Okay... so that girl—Krystal—we talked a bunch. Turns out she had a free too—what are the odds—and she was like, _'Hey, why don't we go somewhere private?_ ' So you know that bathroom by the Social Studies room? The one that's usually pretty quiet because nobody goes there, and it's kind of out of the way?”

Curtis paused his story and gave a small chuckle, grinning to himself, while Malcolm found it harder and harder to keep a neutral expression. He had a bad feeling about where this was headed.

“Well, we go there, and all of a sudden we're making out, like hardcore. One thing leads to another and then—” He let out a ' _whoop_ ' of laughter. “Goodbye, V card! This is the best fucking day of my life!” At his accidental pun, he laughed again. “' _Fucking day,_ ' that's hilarious. I didn't even mean to say that.”

Malcolm’s smile must have appeared forced at this point, but he couldn’t bring himself to salvage it. He just squeaked out a “ _wow!_ ” and tried to finish up as quickly as possible while Curtis moved into a play-by-play description. Calling it excruciating might have seemed dramatic, but he still would have used the word. Throughout the entire walk toward their next classes, Curtis kept talking about the bathroom encounter while he prayed for death. When they finally separated, it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Thankfully, his 3-D Art elective required a lot of concentration, and the day's events got pushed to the wayside. Malcolm’s mood even began to improve. It only got better when he went to his next class, History. Mrs. Tunt held a surprise Jeopardy session with extra credit as the winner’s reward, and Malcolm beamed when his team congratulated him for the victory.

When the bell rang for lunch, he actually smiled as he stowed his stuff in his locker before heading toward the lunchroom. He grabbed his lunch and seated himself at his usual table when two figures approached. One was Curtis, which was par for the course, and the other... was the girl with pink-tipped hair.

They both sat down, and Malcolm frowned. “I thought sophomores had the next lunch?”

“They do, but Krystal here hates English, so she's skipping it today to sit with me,” Curtis said, gesturing at the girl, who gave a brief wave and then immediately returned her attention to him. “Anyway, Krystal, this is Malcolm. Malcolm, this is Krystal. She has three cats and a dog... and also a great rack.”

She laughed awkwardly while Malcolm resisted the urge to throw up. Instead, he tried to give her a gracious smile. “So... that's a cool name, Krystal...”

Wrinkling her nose, she replied, “My real name is Mary—apparently, that was my grandma's name or something. But I hate it; it's so boring, so everyone calls me Krystal instead.”

She giggled while Malcolm, not knowing how to respond, shoved a large bite into his mouth.

She then turned her head back to Curtis and cooed, “So, you were telling me a story about a party. I want to hear what happens next.”

Placing her hand on his upper arm, she stroked his skin with her thumb. Malcolm guessed the action resulted from a combination of her admiring his bicep—which, although not large, was very defined—and attempting to elicit a reaction. In terms of the latter, she succeeded as Curtis stopped shoveling in food and set his fork down.

“Well,” he started and launched into a memory Malcolm had never heard before.

It didn't take long for him to figure out why though. _Good grief,_ _he's literally just describing a scene from **Superbad**! How is she not catching on? Has she just not seen the movie?_

Despite his less than impressed status, Krystal ate up every word, gasping and giggling at all the appropriate moments. “Wow,” she breathed once it was over. “That was so funny!” She laughed and scooted closer to Curtis, leaning in to murmur something into his ear. He listened for a moment and then grinned, nodding and whispering something back.

Malcolm watched in silence—would have been nice if they acknowledged him a little. Looking down at his tray, he instead tried to focus on the somewhat soggy piece of meat he'd been eating.

The period continued like this, Curtis and Krystal flirting while he slowly finished his food. Curtis still had his voracious appetite and went back for seconds and thirds, much to Krystal's astonishment.

“Wow, you eat a ton!” she commented once he had polished off his third tray.

Curtis rubbed the back of his neck. “Um... so... can anyone lend me their card? I'd like to get a bit more...”

“You want more!?” Krystal blinked before a devilish smile came over her features. “Here,” she teased, pulling out her card, “if you promise to pay me back after school, you can have it.” She then leaned in to nuzzle his neck.

Delighted, Curtis kissed her right then and there, with Malcolm trying desperately not to stare at them. He got up to leave the couple alone—it wasn’t like there was really any point in continuing to sit at the table. They didn't even notice as he left, both too preoccupied with each other. Heading back to his locker, he couldn’t stop a lump from forming in his throat.

***

Malcolm avoided Curtis the rest of the school day. The other boy didn't seek him out either, and his ambivalence left Malcolm hollow. He spent the periods after lunch in a quiet stupor, mulling over all the recent developments. Things only got more awkward after the last class of the day ended.

“Did my answers to your medical question help out?” Dr. Reeder asked. “You looked a little distracted when you left the room.”

“Yeah, of course!” Malcolm lied. He hurried to the door before the teacher could say anything more—no point in hurting the old guy’s feelings, after all.

After he left the classroom, he went to his locker and got his stuff together for the walk home. When he was done, he stared ahead, taking a deep breath. He needed to go to Curtis' locker and actually talk to him. He was acting childish in trying to avoid him, and nothing would get better if he refused to communicate how he felt. Mustering up a smile, he made his way over to Curtis, who turned to look at him as he approached.

“Hey, what's up?” Curtis said before tossing a piece of beef jerky into his mouth. “Didn't see you after lunch. I was meaning to talk to you.”

Warmth spread through Malcolm at the words. _He noticed! And he wants to talk!_ Beaming, he responded, “That's great because I've been meaning to talk to you too.”

“Oh cool. Well, I'll go first. I was going to let you know that I can't hang out today. I really need to go buy some new clothes—especially shoes. The ones I'm wearing are fucking killing me. After that, Krystal invited me over to her house.” Curtis grinned to himself. “And I got a _pretty_ good idea of what we'll be doing.”

 _Oh._ Malcolm’s spirit crumbled faster than a _Jenga_ tower _._

Curtis noticed his crestfallen gaze. “Hey, we'll hang out some other time. We're still on for Saturday, right?”

“Yeah...” he sighed. "Guess I'll just wait until Saturday..."

This earned him a playful punch in the shoulder, to which Malcolm gave a fake smile in response. It wouldn’t appear convincing, but even so, he hoped it would suffice.

Unfortunately, this was not the case. Curtis frowned at his lack of enthusiasm. “Is this about there being a girl in my life?”

Malcolm blinked, raising his arms in a last-minute plea.

It was too late. Curtis scowled. “Look, sorry everything isn't revolving around you 24/7, but I can hang out with other people, you know. You’re not the center of the universe, and this pity party you have going on is really annoying. So why don’t you go home and work out or something? If you lose a bit of weight, maybe you’ll get somebody too.”

With that, he marched off while Malcolm could only stare at his back, shell-shocked. The insult stung, and moisture formed in his eyes. Wiping it away, he hurried away from the locker. _Count to ten and concentrate on your breathing. He’s annoyed, but he’s still your friend, he’s still your friend, he’s still your—_

A shove made him stumble, and he looked up to meet the instigator’s eyes. _Oh no._

Joel Scalf sneered at him. “Watch where you’re going, fatass! You nearly ran me over!”

After a mumbled apology, he endured another string of taunts before returning his attention to getting home. That was a bad omen. He fought both the lump in his throat and the intrusive thoughts swirling in his mind—forget counting to ten.

Upon arriving, he ran straight to his room. No one else was in the house, so he didn't bother closing the door as he pulled his shirt over his head and stared at himself in the mirror. A round face with glasses and fuzzy, black hair stared back. Moving his gaze downward, he cringed. His heart sank at the stretch marks around his waist, the dome of his belly, the softness of his arms, the slight protuberance of his chest—he looked horrible in every way.

Biting his lip, he moved back and lowered himself into a push-up position. His arms immediately began to shake, but he forced himself to complete the action, his shoulders screaming at him to stop after just one. He went to do another but found that he couldn't. Lying on the floor, he squeezed his eyes shut as tears leaked out.

Why? Why did he have to be like this? He sat up, gazing forward in a numb stupor, the echoing remarks striking like venomous snakes.

If only he'd gotten splashed by the formula too; maybe then he wouldn't be so ugly and unlikable.


	10. Turns Out There's a Catch

One last shudder went through them before they disentangled, giving each other a brief yet heated kiss. As he pulled away, Curtis internally high-fived himself once more. What a great afternoon, and the combination of empty pizza boxes and clothes strewn around the bed perfectly reflected it.

Lying next to him, Krystal snuggled closer, tracing a fingertip across his torso. “You're a lot cuter than my ex,” she murmured, a tingle passing through him at her touch.

In response, he pressed his lips against her neck. Satisfaction flowed through him at the soft sigh the action elicited. He had seen people do that in movies, and from the sound of it, it made her feel good. Grinning, he stroked her face. “Same to you too.”

That was a lie. He had never had a girlfriend before, but she didn't need to know that.

Lowering her eyelashes, she took a small breath, and when she made eye contact again, she smiled. “So... you taking anybody to Homecoming?”

Oh. So there was the catch. Curtis' lip twitched. “Uh... no... I'm not...”

Krystal's eyes lit up at what was apparently the desired answer. “Wow, that's awesome! Me neither! You wanna go with me?”

Mentally kicking himself, he warred between hurting her feelings and having to go to that stupid event. Eventually, the second one won. “Yeah... we can go...”

At this, Krystal squealed and kissed him again.

Curtis cringed at being caught unprepared—those braces really dug into one's tongue if you weren't expecting them.

Separating, she exclaimed, “I can't wait for my friends to meet you! I've been bragging all day about hooking up with a senior. Wait till they hear you're my date too!”

 _How many smiles can one force in a day?_ Yet here he was, doing exactly that at each of her statements. He half-listened to her while she went on and on about the event, talking about her friends and their dates and dresses and things that, quite frankly, didn't interest him.

Growing bored, he instead looked around her room, taking in his surroundings for the first time since he'd arrived. Krystal had texted him her address earlier in the day, and when he'd shown up after buying new clothes, he'd been immediately stunned by the lavish neighborhood—God, he felt out of place.

He felt even more out of place in her bedroom. With walls painted a pastel blue (an almost _overbearingly_ feminine pastel blue), it held all the usual amenities—bed, dresser, desk—plus a chair and a floor lamp. Next to a spacious walk-in closet, a shelf full of stuffed animals gazed out with empty black eyes. Beside them hung posters of several male celebrities, their heated gazes and often-shirtless torsos obviously the selling point.

Curtis' eyes wandered between the strange dichotomy for a moment, the overlap between childhood innocence and sexual awakening unnerving him. What did she feel when she looked around?

“Hey, are you listening?”

“Huh?” He turned toward her frowning face.

“I was asking you if you wanted to go shopping for Homecoming outfits after school on Friday. I still need a dress, and I want to make sure your tie coordinates with it.”

Curtis just stared at her in disbelief. There were a couple things standing in the way of that event occurring. One, he had blown a ton of money on food and clothes this week, and he was actually getting a little worried about his finances. He didn't get paid until Monday, but even then, he doubted he'd have enough to cover dress clothes. Two, that sounded fucking awful, and he'd rather pull his teeth out than go through with it.

“I... don't know if that's going to happen...”

Krystal pouted at the statement. He then explained his financial situation, after which her gaze softened. “Well, what if I pay for you and then you reimburse me later?”

God fucking dammit. Why did she have to be like this? “Yeah, I suppose that sounds good.” Fuck fuck fuck, how did he get suckered into doing all these shitty fucking things?

Beginning to fume, he sat up and stretched while Krystal watched him. Biting her lip, she questioned, “So... I was just wondering... what's up with those scars?”

Curtis glanced down at the faded wounds, tracing one with his finger. “Um... I got attacked by a dog when I was a kid.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, that's horrible!”

He gave a half-shrug, and she climbed into his lap, kissing the skin. Moaning softly, he clutched her closer, that familiar tingle once again dancing across his nerves.

To this, she gave him a mischievous smile. “You like that, huh?” When he nodded, her smile widened. “Tell me...” She tilted her head, expression simultaneously demure and coquettish. “Was I your first?”

The out-of-the-blue question caught him off guard. He blinked at her and snorted. “No. Of course not,” he lied. “I've been with several girls.”

She laughed, stroking the side of his face. “You know,” she said, pecking him on the lips, “I'm not going to judge you if I was.”

He frowned. “What makes you think that?”

She shrugged. “You just seem a little inexperienced is all.” She smiled again. “But it's okay; I like you. Even your inexperience is cute.”

Ouch. That was one hell of a backhanded compliment. As Curtis scowled, she laughed again, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in. She prodded his nose with hers, and he grudgingly kissed her, his pride a little wounded at the remark.

Glancing back up at the male heartthrob posters once the kiss ended, he had a thought pop into his head: “Say... how many guys have you been with?”

An amused smile crossed her face. “How come you want to know?”

“You asked me."

At his indignation, she lowered her gaze. Then with half-lidded eyes, she purred, “Same number as you.”

“I’ve never been with a guy…”

Krystal sighed. “I meant girls for you, obviously!”

“Okay…” He frowned. “But I never said a number.”

Smiling at his confused tone, she winked. “I know.”

Oh fuck. She was messing with him big time. Curtis’ stomach sank with the feeling that he had just lost a game he didn't even know he was playing. This whole time he had been relishing in the belief that he was in charge, but now that their experience levels were so plainly obvious... had she been the one pulling the strings the whole time? He met the gaze of one of the posters. Was that how she viewed him? Turning his head in a different direction didn't fare any better, as now he met the judgmental stare of a teddy bear, making him suddenly wish that he wasn't sitting in its owner's room naked with her in his lap.

His brief internal crisis ended with a loud vibrating noise from his phone. Placing Krystal beside him, he then leaped off the bed, hurrying over to where the object lay. He read the text and grabbed his jeans off the floor, pulling them on in record time.

Krystal watched him with disdainful amusement. “Is that your pizza?”

“Yup."

She looked annoyed but made no comment as he made his way out of the room and down to the first floor, running his hand along the smooth mahogany banister of the main staircase. God, it was still fucking with his head that he was in such a nice house—even more mind-boggling that he'd been fucking one of its inhabitants.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he forced those thoughts from his head and answered the door. The pimply delivery boy looked a little shocked at his half-dressed state, stuttering out his greeting with wide eyes, but Curtis didn’t particularly care. Although his internal self wore a smug smile at the envious stare, outwardly he ignored the guy ogling his upper body and pulled out some cash. “All right, that should be enough. Here you go.”

After accepting it, the delivery guy asked with a nasally voice, “Uh... you ordered two other pizzas before this... so are you… like... after each one…”

With an enormous fake smile, Curtis took the pizza box from his hands. “What a good question! To answer that, none of your fucking business!” He then proceeded to slam the door in the surprised delivery guy's face.

Trotting back upstairs, he opened the box to grab a slice. By the time he reached Krystal's room, it was already half-gone.

Inside, Krystal lay on her stomach, arms bent at the elbow to allow her chin to rest in her hands. Her eyes followed him as he placed the box on her desk and finished off the first piece he grabbed, only to immediately replace it with another. This continued for a couple minutes, with Krystal looking on in amazement the whole time.

“I can't believe how much you eat!” she finally exclaimed. Glancing at the floor where the other discarded pizza boxes lay, she shook her head before sitting up, braces flashing as she smiled. “Where the heck do you put all of it?”

Swallowing his bite, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand “I'm going through a growth spurt.”

Krystal raised an eyebrow. “That's one hell of a growth spurt. I can't believe you and”—she frowned, the mental gears in her mind obviously turning and wondered—“what's your friend's name? The fat, black guy who sat with us at lunch?”

“Malcolm.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, I can't believe you don't look like him.”

Curtis tensed. On the one hand, he was sick of people criticizing his feed intake. On the other, a surge of protective indignation went through him at her insult toward Malcolm. All right, he didn't really have any place to be talking—a pang of guilt welled up at what he had said toward the poor boy at the end of the school day. But still, at least he knew Malcolm and liked the guy. What the fuck did she know?

His scowl from earlier returned, and he turned his attention toward the slice of warm pizza. Raising the melted goodness to his mouth, he paused at a small, black speck on the back of his right hand. Lowering his arm, he gazed at it with a furrowed brow. Had that always been there? Was it new? The room suddenly felt several degrees colder as the memory of the all-school meeting held in the gym before last summer popped up—the topic had been over sun protection and avoiding skin cancer. What was the name of it? Melana? Melama? Melanoma. Yes, that was it. Shit, what if Malcolm was right?

Krystal's voice broke through his dilemma with a shrill, “I'm feeling a little ignored over here!”

Jerking his head, he took a bite and then swallowed. “Well, I'm eating... what do you want?”

“I want,” she pouted, “for you to pay attention to me! That's why I had you come over in the first place!”

At her insistence, he clambered back onto the bed and kissed her.

Krystal wrinkled her nose as he pulled away. “Ew, you taste like pizza.”

“What a coincidence,” he deadpanned as he took another bite. “I am eating pizza.”

This time, she was the one who scowled. “I meant for you to stop eating and pay attention to me!”

“But I'm hungry and I can't eat you, now can I?” A devious thought wormed its way into his head, and he gave a toothy smile. “Say... when did you say your parents were getting home?”

“Uh... a couple hours from now. We got time.”

Finishing off the slice, he licked his fingers, smacking his lips once finished. Then he grabbed her thighs and tugged her toward him, Krystal letting out a surprised shriek as he did so. Spreading the supple limbs, he lowered his head between her legs and gave one last saucy look. “Actually, I figured out a solution to both of our problems.”

He had never felt so triumphant in his life as when a breathless “ _oh God!_ ” escaped from her lips.


	11. If Weird Shit Were to Go Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, I haven't updated in forever. Welp, I've decided to post all 40 chapters of this work. I'll try to update more regularly from now on.

A black Labrador and a gray Pit Bull raced up to the Chevy sedan as it pulled into the gravel driveway. Once the engine died, Ethan hopped out of the car, laughing as the two dogs smothered him in kisses. While they commanded most of his attention, he still flashed a grin at a Collie sitting a few feet back, who quietly drank in the scene with gentle, brown eyes.

From the driver’s side, Mom stepped out of the car and smiled at his enthusiasm. Even though classes had ended hours ago, she still had her nametag pinned to her blazer, reading, _“Dr. Tiana DeMarco—Professor of Anthropology—Clarksville University.”_ Many a stranger had been surprised she was old enough to be a professor, with her brown skin free of wrinkles and her hair a lustrous black—although, on threat of death, Ethan had been told never to divulge it was from hair dye rather than good genetics.

After heading over, Mom patted him on the shoulder. She jerked her head at the ranch house. “C'mon, kid. Dad said he wanted to check on a few of the heifers, and I’m sure he could use your help. Go and get changed out of your football clothes, then meet him in the barn.”

“All right, Mom. I'm going,” He gave one last pat to each of the dogs and then hurried toward the ranch house, ruffling Missy’s ears as he passed.

The gesture seemed to please her. Wagging her tail, the Collie turned around to trot at his heels, only to wait outside as he stepped over a sleeping American Bulldog to get in.

Accompanied by the creak of floorboards, he walked by his younger sister's room—adorned with bright pink letters spelling out, “ _Julia Priest”_ —before reaching his own. There, he threw open the jersey-laden door to change into work clothes, complete with mud boots and a phone shoved into his jacket pocket. Ready to go.

The closer Ethan got to the enormous barn, the louder the mooing grew. While he still had a chance, he breathed in the fresh October air. Delightfully crisp, not too hot or cold—what more could one ask out of fall? Perfect weather, perfect foliage, just... perfect.

Missy followed him while Lincoln and Diesel formed a respective black and gray blur as they chased each other around. Passing by one of the fenced-in plots of land, he pretended to tip an imaginary hat. “Evenin’, Boris,” he joked at the large Angus bull grazing within. The animal paid him no heed, and he shook his head. “Cold shoulder again, huh?”

At the barn, he slid the door open to a startled cat streaking out, barely visible in the setting sun. He snorted and rolled his eyes at the surprise, then made his way inside the dimly lit space. Despite the poor lighting, it didn’t take him long to find his old man. Dad stood in his usual bow-legged stance at the cattle stalls performing a rectal palpation on one of the heifers.

When he noticed Ethan, he pulled out his arm, feces coating the plastic cover. “Just checking on 1026 here. Her rumen feels good; glad to see she didn’t lose the calf.” He removed the glove and stuck it in the trash. Then, using his clean hand, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab sweat off the black sheen of his forehead. “All right, you want to help me get her back out to pasture?”

Grasping the chute handle, Ethan waited until Dad exited. With a pull of the lever, he released heifer 1026, who then rejoined the outside world. They did as well, with Boris looking up as they walked. He quickly lost interest and went back to grazing, leaving them without an audience as they checked the roughage and water supply. They also took inventory—Dad muttering crossly about magnesium—and then headed back in to spray down the chute.

“We'll have to order copper sulfate,” Dad remarked as they washed out the cow droppings. “One of the feedlots complained to me about foot rot on some of the calves; it’ll be a bitch to budget, but I don’t want to lose their business.”

As he said this, Ethan's phone buzzed. He smiled sheepishly, and Dad rolled his eyes. A moment later, another buzz sounded, and then another and another. Soon, the number of buzzes reached double digits, finally prompting Dad to stop working and turn to face him.

“We're almost done here, so why don't you go figure out who wants to talk to you so bad?”

Ethan murmured out a “thank you” and then hurried out of the barn, closing the door as he left. Without the light of the sun, he used his phone as a flashlight to guide his steps, only pausing to cast a brief look behind him. Darkness covered the pasture, and the building and nearby grain silo loomed like enormous beasts. Shaking the thought away, he went and sat on the steps of the ranch house, smiling as Missy came and lay by his feet. She rested her head on his leg, and he absentmindedly stroked her as he opened his inbox.

Scrolling through his text messages, he found he had several from Adam, all containing profanity. There was also one message from his friend, Tommy, saying, “ _hey i think adam is havin a bit of a meltdown_.” Yeah, you could say that. From what Ethan could gather, Adam's dad had contacted him, and the guy wasn't too pleased about it.

He began to type out a response when the incoming call screen popped up, the caller ID reading, “ _the coolest dickhead_.” He accepted it and immediately winced, holding the phone a couple inches away from his ear as a loud shriek of “ _that fucking asshole!_ ” came from the other side.

“Dude, dude, dude, calm down. Talk to me. What's going on?”

Adam took a breath before launching into a tirade: “Today, the world's biggest fuckface, a.k.a my dad, decides to call me out of the blue like everything is just fucking peachy, and is like, ' _Hey, son, I know your big game is this Saturday. Heard there were going to be recruiters. Good luck!_ ' And it's just like, yeah sure, you were never there; you never fucking paid your child support like you were supposed to; and yet, you still try to act like we're a happy father and son, just so maybe I’ll feel fucking sorry for your shitty ass and lend some money—but hey, ignore all that! Let's do normal things like talk about girls and football and agh! God, fuck him!”

Licking his lips, Ethan pet Missy for tension relief—what was up with this language? While not a prude, Adam only swore now and again, and usually not like this; this was something else. It was true that Adam and his father had a pretty terrible relationship, most of the reasons totally legitimate, but still—did a simple phone call really warrant this? Way worse interactions had resulted in far less rage; what was going on?

“All right,” he began slowly, “I get that you're upset. But I dunno if dwelling on the phone call will make you feel better. Maybe you should focus on something else right now to try and cool off; I can distract you if you want.” There was nothing on the other line, and he exhaled. “Dude, think about it this way; as shitty as it is that you had to talk to him, at least he's not actually asking you to come see him or something like that.”

As he finished, he wiped his forehead, the silence agonizing. Finally, a quiet “yeah, you're right” came, and relief as refreshing as a cool breeze flowed through him.

There was a soft sniffle and then Adam choked out, “Bianca still won't talk to me. She's not even responding to my texts anymore.”

 _Ohhhhhhhhhhh. This explains everything._ Ethan sighed. “I know, man. It sucks. Maybe this means that you just gotta give her space and let her come to you.”

“But you said earlier that I should make her talk to me.”

Grimacing, he responded, “That's true... but maybe sending a billion texts is kind of the wrong way to go about it.”

There was the noise of a nose being wiped, followed by Adam's voice again, somewhat distant this time: “I don't know. I just... I want something... anything... just a brief conversation to talk things over. We used to talk about everything... we were even making plans about what we were going to do when we went off to college—you know, assuming the recruiters like me on Saturday."

“They'll like you, man. There's no way they won't.”

Adam gave a soft laugh. “Thanks. I just... I feel like there's this void and I can't get through it.”

Boy, Tommy was really underselling what was going on—this probably qualified as more than just a “ _bit of a meltdown_.” As good of friends as they were, he and Adam didn't normally have lengthy conversations about feelings. If it wasn't so obvious how messed up Adam was, he probably would have tried to bail to get out of the uncomfortable situation.

Missy momentarily distracted him from the disaster by licking his hand, and he smiled at her. Scratching the side of his buzz cut, he composed himself and said, “Okay, here's what you gotta do. You have to give her space for a few days—she obviously needs time. Then maybe she'll be ready to talk. You remember when I broke up with Lakeisha?”

A grunt of affirmation came from the other line, and Ethan continued, “Yeah, I was so messed up. But we waited a bit, talked it out, and hey! We're still friends! Like shit, man, did you know she's dating Jackson Ross?” At the confused noise, he explained, “He was in the grade above us, goes to Clarksville University now. Anyway, she talks to me about stuff like that—and we're both cool with it. Like, she told me the other day about how she's taking him to Homecoming.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. “But I don't know if I want to be just friends with her. I love her.”

Ethan had to force himself not to hit his head. “Yes, I know you do. And maybe she'll decide she wants to be with you again and maybe she won't... but don't think about that right now. Just... do something else.”

Another sniffle, followed by a breath being released on the other line. Rubbing his temples, he frowned and then jumped when Adam asked, “Wait, I thought you were taking Lakeisha to Homecoming as friends?”

He laughed. “Nah man, turns out Jackson could go after all. I'm now taking Amber Rollins.”

“Oh, she's cool.”

Ethan nodded, Missy blinking up at him with her large, brown eyes. “Yeah, she is. Problem is she wants me to go over to her house before the dance to take pictures and meet her parents and stuff, and I'm just like, _'Oh shit, this is some **Get Out** nonsense. I ain't meeting no white girl parents_.'” He grinned as Adam laughed loudly on the other end.

“Dude, you know that's just a movie.”

Ethan laughed as well. “The twist, yeah, but for the racism, not really. Having said that... strange stuff always does happen in little middle-of-nowhere places. Trust me on this; if weird shit were to go down, I wouldn't doubt for a second that it would be in Wesley.”


	12. The New Hot Gossip

Malcolm couldn’t get his feet to move. He stood in front of the school, slowly inhaling, then exhaling in an attempt to control his churning stomach. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to go to class, and most importantly, he didn't want to watch Curtis having a blast while he wallowed in misery. But what did it matter? He doubted Curtis would care about his feelings. He had other people now; Malcolm didn't.

He finally worked up the courage to head inside. After arriving at his locker, he performed his morning routine. Unzip backpack. Pull out books he didn't need. Stick books in locker. Grab books that—

“Hey man, how's it going?”

A heavy weight pressed down on his head. He hunched to get away from it, turning around to figure out what Curtis could have placed there.

Had he not been in such a mood, he probably would have had the same reaction as yesterday morning—open-mouthed shock. But today, he just gave a defeated stare at the once-again larger form of Curtis.

“All right, this is a little ridiculous now, is it not?” he said wearily, moving his hand up and down to gesture at Curtis' stature.

The guy shrugged in response. “I don't mind.”

He now stood several inches over six feet and probably could have passed as a body double for someone in an action movie. His T-shirt fit a little too snugly—leaving little to the viewer's imagination—while he wore basketball shorts instead of pants, probably to avoid having the length only come to his shins.

He leaned against a locker. “So did you have a good afternoon yesterday?”

_No, I didn't._

“Yeah, it was fine.” Malcolm continued his morning routine and asked out of habit, “You?”

He regretted doing so immediately as Curtis looked off, grinning to himself. _“Really_ good _._ Really, really fucking good.”

Much to Malcolm's relief, he didn't disclose information on any particular activities, instead sighing, “The only issue is she wants me to take her to Homecoming, and I freaking agreed because I didn't want to make her feel bad. Like shit, I do not want to go. Not only that, she literally won't stop texting me. And so much of it is such random, stupid crap.” He scowled. “I think she thinks we're, like, dating or something.”

“Can't imagine why she would think that,” Malcolm muttered. He shrank as Curtis shot him a glare. “Sorry... I didn't mean that.”

“Okay... I was gonna say... getting a little sassy there.” Curtis' glare dissipated, but he still wore a frown.

Closing his locker and walking away, Malcolm shouldered his backpack as Curtis fell into step beside him. Part of him wanted to say something about Saturday, about how Curtis was canceling their plans, but it was probably better to stay quiet. Curtis began to talk about something—Malcolm didn't know what, he didn't care—and the same weight from earlier appeared on his head.

“Stop that,” he snapped, pushing Curtis' arm away. Curtis rested it there again, and this time he shook his head, scowling. “I don't like it when people touch my hair. Stop.”

“Are you gonna actually listen to me then?”

The comment sounded playful, but Malcolm detected an annoyed undertone. He didn't respond and instead kept walking, trying to ignore all the people around him, who gaped and whispered as they made their way through the hall.

***

It became apparent after his first class that Curtis was the new hot gossip. Everywhere Malcolm went, he kept hearing snippets of conversation centered around the boy.

“ _It's got to be a costume or something. No freaking way._ ”

“ _Is there a new kid in our school? I've never seen this guy before and he's HUGE!_ ”

“ _This guy has to be on steroids or some other drug, like holy shit. Nobody gets that big that quickly_.”

The talk was hard to avoid in its pervasiveness, and Malcolm actually began dreading the prospect of third period. Scheduling most of his free blocks with Curtis had seemed like such a good idea last semester, but considering all of the current rumors and other circumstances, now the notion of spending close to an hour with the guy made his palms sweat.

When the bell rang at the end of his Spanish class, he sat in his seat, taking deep breaths to calm down. It wasn't really working. Eventually, he gave up the attempt—maybe a splash of water would be more effective. He packed up his stuff, then hurried into the hallway. After passing by the small radio club studio, he found—much to his chagrin—an “ _Out of Order_ ” construction sign hung on the bathroom door. He cursed silently to himself.It wasn't worth it to go to another one.

Still discouraged by the inconvenience, Malcolm trudged toward the Commons, absorbed in his thoughts. Not even walking by various dress-up day participants—adorned with face paint and tinfoil—could break his preoccupation, and his mood slipped lower and lower. Sooner or later he would meet up with Curtis; it was bound to happen.

 _Look at it this way,_ a small voice whispered in his head, _he's still talking to you, is he not? You're just jealous you're not the only person he has anymore._

Yes, fine, he was, and it was petty, and it was wrong, and he shouldn't feel that way, he should be happy for Curtis, heck, he should be happy Curtis even still put up with him, he just... wished he could stop feeling so left out.

At the Commons, he sat on a couch and pulled out his Spanish workbook. A moment later, Curtis dropped into the seat next to him, chowing down on a large deli sandwich. Neither one said anything for a little while, both too engrossed in their own activities. However, Malcolm's concentration broke when Curtis—now finished with his sandwich—shoved his phone over the workbook.

“Look at this. Twenty-four text messages in the past four hours alone. They're all from fucking Krystal.” He glared at the object. “I don't have unlimited texting, so I hope she cuts this out soon.”

“You know, you could let her know this annoys you by just going and talking to her like a regular human being,” Malcolm muttered, a slight edge creeping into his voice.

Curtis whipped his head around to face him. “Okay, literally what the fuck is your problem!?”

Malcolm cringed at the hostile tone, but Curtis wasn't done yet.

“You've been saying shit like this for like two days now, either being super fucking passive aggressive or pretending to be ' _concerned_.' I'm getting kind of done with you feeling so fucking sorry for yourself about all the stuff that's happening to me. Like, sorry you feel sad or whatever, but I'm not going to bend over backward and not have fun because it might hurt your fucking feelings. If I bother you that much, I'll go sit somewhere else, and you can have your shitty life to yourself.”

When the tirade finished, Malcolm had to bite his lip to keep the swell of tears at bay, the moment only made more embarrassing by the whispers of neighboring students. As Curtis turned to leave, he blurted out, “No, I'm really sorry! Please don't go, you're right, you're right, I'm being stupid! I promise I'll stop!”

Tilting his head, Curtis frowned down at Malcolm’s distressed form. “Okay...” he murmured, then settled back onto the couch.

Malcolm attempted to wipe his eyes discreetly, and Curtis just looked on in contempt before his lips curled into a smile.

“Hey, you know what? You can make it up to me by buying me another sandwich.”

Eager to placate him, Malcolm nodded and pulled out his phone. He asked Curtis what he wanted—two sandwiches, oh dear—and then placed the order. After receiving the food, Curtis grew significantly nicer, and soon, they even managed to strike up a conversation about _Fire Emblem._

Even so, Malcolm couldn't get over the number of stares and whispers aimed at their direction. Some were surreptitious, while others didn't even try to be subtle. Curtis didn't seem to mind in the slightest, often making eye contact and smiling just so the other person would hurriedly look away.

It culminated in a guy actually coming up to him, saying, “So my friends and I were debating about how you made your costume. We haven't come to any kind of verdict, so I thought I'd ask.”

“What makes you think it's a costume?” Curtis replied, staring him down.

Brief uncertainty crossed the guy's face. “Well... we always have this free period, and I've seen you around before... you don't look like this normally...”

Curtis cocked his head, giving an acidic smile. “Papier-mâché. Now go away.” He turned away, and the guy, clearly uncomfortable, decided it was better to recoup his loss than to continue pestering his object of interest.

Rolling his eyes, Curtis tilted his head in the direction the guy left. “Wow, can you believe that just happened?”

“Yeah, that was... I mean, I guess it makes sense for there to be rumors, but... yeah,” Malcolm stammered.

Curtis nodded, scratching his hand. “I don't care about rumors; I'm just amazed at the nerve to go up and ask somebody a question like that. Who the fuck does that guy think he is?”

Unsure of how to answer, Malcolm focused on his pencil instead of responding.

Luckily, Curtis didn't seem to mind. He shoved the last bite of his food into his mouth and then stared longingly down at the empty wrappers. “I should have ordered more.” He gave Malcolm a pleading look. “Will you...?”

Malcolm tensed. “I... I already bought you two...”

To his immense relief, Curtis backed down and wasn't angry at his refusal. He just picked at a loose seam in the couch and scowled. “This sucks. I don't have enough money to buy any more.” With a sigh, he said, “I'm going to look around for loose change; at least enough to get something from the vending machine.”

About to bid him goodbye, Malcolm stopped as Curtis stretched, arms raised above his head. The motion caused the fabric to pull taut across his chest, revealing the size of his pectorals, the definition of his upper arms, the grooves in his abdomen...

 _Holy moly._ Malcolm couldn't tear his eyes away, hypnotized by the display. Did Adam even look that nice...?

Curtis laughing brought him back to Earth, and he blinked as if coming out of a trance. Smirking, Curtis teased, “Is that a DS in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

It took all of Malcolm’s willpower not to dive headfirst into the nearest trashcan. Heat rushed into his cheeks, and he turned away with a sudden despise for male physiology as he moved his workbook to cover his lap.

“Hey, Malcolm,” Curtis snickered in a sing-song voice. “I'll make a deal with you.”

Glancing over, Malcolm frowned as the other boy gave his signature impressive grin.

“I'll let you touch me if you buy me more food.”

 _What!?_ The offer floored him even as he curled his lip. A combination of anger, disgust, shock, and longing all flooded into him at once, the intensity almost paralyzing. The only thing he could manage was a curt, “For a supposedly straight guy, you sure seem to like throwing yourself at me.” His brain screamed at him as soon as the words left his mouth, even before Curtis' gaze hardened and his nostrils flared.

Raking his eyes over Malcolm’s body, he growled, “Don't flatter yourself, fatass.” He then grabbed his stuff and stormed off, leaving Malcolm behind to stew in anguished silence.

For a moment, all he could do was stare blankly ahead. When the reality of the situation hit him, he sank into the couch. His hands shook as he squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the flurry of whispers that erupted around him. Why did he do that? Why couldn't he keep his big mouth shut? Why couldn't he just—

 _The dam's not going to hold_. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he gathered up his things and hurried out of the Commons. He made his way into the nearest bathroom but balked at the number of people inside. After racing out, he kept wandering the halls, blinking back tears. Eventually, he found the bathroom by the Social Studies room and ran in.

He stopped. This was where Curtis had sex with Krystal the first time. The door was right there, he could leave... but then again, it was empty and he needed to be alone.

Dropping his backpack on the floor, he grasped a sink basin to steady himself, shoulders shaking as a muffled sob tore out of his mouth. He hated himself—hated his stupid fat body, hated that he was so lonely, hated that everything got to him, hated that Curtis was right, hated that he had wanted to touch him, hated that he couldn't keep his stupid mouth from blurting out the first thought in his head—

“Hey, man, are you okay?”

Malcolm jerked at the question, whirling around to where a shaggy-haired boy stood with a concerned gaze. He must have emerged from the stall after Malcolm had entered, and panic crept through him at another person witnessing his moment of vulnerability. God, he probably looked like such a loser…

“I-I'll be okay...” he mumbled, turning his head away, too flushed with embarrassment to say anything else. To make matters worse, he recognized the guy—Brad Li the Spirit Rep, a.k.a someone who was relatively popular and, up close, actually quite attractive.

Brad didn't look convinced but started toward the door. “All right... just... if you ever need to talk to somebody... you can always hunt me down...”

He left, and Malcolm stared at the exit, the awkward moment numbing him from the cyclone of emotions twisting inside. Taking a long, shuddering breath, he grabbed his backpack from the floor. History started soon, and he didn't want to be late.

As he walked to class, Malcolm pulled out his phone and typed out a text: “ _Hey, you probably don't want to talk to me, but I'm really sorry and I'll be sitting at our usual table at lunch. I'll move if you want me to.”_

He hit “ _Send_ ,” hoping at the very least he would get a response, even if it wasn't cordial.

Staying focused during History was more difficult than usual. He spent the entire class checking his phone every few minutes for an update, but the answer stayed the same every time. When the end of the period arrived, Malcolm packed up his things dejectedly.

As he pulled on his backpack, however, a vibration came from his pocket. He grabbed his phone, almost dropping the object in his haste. After he steadied his hands, a message notification blinked up at him.

The text was from Curtis and read, “ _u dont need to move. just dont make any more anoying comments and were good._ ”

Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief. At least it sounded like he was somewhat forgiven. Stashing his stuff in his locker, he then hurried onto lunch, sitting down at his usual spot after grabbing his meal.

Curtis joined him not long after, although he didn't have any food.

Malcolm gave him a quizzical glance. “Where's your lunch?”

“My account is empty, and I don’t have any money, remember?”

He sounded a little cross but was certainly friendlier than earlier. In fact, Malcolm even felt sorry for him—Curtis' enormous appetite meant he was going to be miserable the rest of the day from not getting to eat. Malcolm gave him his card out of pity, and he returned with a tray.

After he sat down, Malcolm blurted out, “I really am sorry.”

Curtis didn't respond, choosing to eat instead. Around a minute later, however, he let out a sigh. “I really hate math.”

Malcolm snorted involuntarily. “Where did that come from?”

“Since as long as you've known me.”

“Okay,” he laughed and shook his head, “but what does that have to do with anything?”

Curtis shrugged. “It doesn't. I just don't really like having conversations about stuff like this.” He gave a small frown. “It's the whole reason I haven't gone and talked to Krystal like _'a regular human being_.'”

Wincing, Malcolm nodded. “Okay, fair enough.” He set his fork down as a thought occurred to him and tentatively asked, “Just out of curiosity... what does your mom think of your... changes?”

Curtis chewed on a fish stick and swallowed. “Hasn't noticed. She's barely been home the last few days, and when she is, she just goes straight to her room and doesn't leave.” He grinned to himself. “Truthfully, I'm looking forward to her freaking the fuck out.”

To this, Malcolm forced a smile. He didn't push the topic any further.

As the conversation moved on to other subjects, the rest of the lunch period went amiably enough, even though Malcolm again found it distracting how many people kept staring at Curtis. When it ended, the two of them walked out of the lunchroom together.

Scratching his hand, Curtis groaned as they walked. “Man, I am going to be fucking starving for the rest of the day. Thank goodness there's still a decent amount of food back at the apartment.”

Malcolm didn't get a chance to say anything back. A female voice said, “Curtis?” in a tone of profound confusion, and they both jerked at the noise.

Krystal stood just a few feet away, eyes practically bugging out of her head as she gaped at Curtis.

“Shit!” he hissed, and Malcolm found himself alone as the guy ran off.

He gave an apologetic shrug to Krystal, who still looked utterly bewildered. “He's been having a bit of a weird day,” he explained.

She just stared, not replying. The expression wasn’t encouraging, so he excused himself and made his way to his locker—he didn’t really want to deal with Curtis’ relationship drama anyway.

A minute later, Curtis showed up. “Did she say anything to you about me?”

Malcolm sighed and shook his head. “No. She didn't say anything at all. She just looked mildly freaked out.”

“Well, I did tell her I was going through a growth spurt.”

Malcolm didn't respond. If he pointed out that someone growing several inches in a day was not the usual thing a person expected from a “growth spurt,” he could set Curtis off—and quite frankly, he’d had enough of that already.

“I probably should end things with her though, right?”

Malcolm glanced up at a conflicted-looking Curtis. He shrugged. “I honestly have no idea what to do in situations like this.”

Curtis slumped against the locker next to him. “She's cute, but I really don’t want to date her.” His eyes followed a figure moving across the hallway. “And besides,” he chuckled, straightening up as a grin spread across his face, “there are a lot of other girls in this school.”

Turning to face Curtis’ line of sight, Malcolm stiffened as Bianca Torres headed over to her locker and opened the door. “You're really going to go after her?” he murmured, a little perturbed at both the licentious expression and the quick dismissal of Krystal.

Curtis smirked. “Why not? She's single, isn't she?”

Before Malcolm could say anything else, the guy was already gone, leaving him with nothing to do but shake his head in amazed disbelief. Sighing, he pulled out his books. _Back to square one..._


	13. Hitting on Girls 101

The bell rang, and Bianca winced.

“Back to doom and gloom,” Amanda groaned, and the rest of the group grumbled out an agreement.

They walked to the lunchroom exit together, wishing each other “ _goodbyes_ ” and _“see you laters”_ before separating to head to their lockers.

Upon arriving at her destination, Bianca spun the dial on her combination lock, watching the numbers twist in and out of sight. She unlocked the contraption and opened up the door, then pulled out her backpack. Okay, what else... she needed the textbook and workbook and binder and—

“Hey, gorgeous.”

She frowned at the interruption to her thoughts, turned to face the culprit... and nearly jumped.

Jesus, this dude was _huge._ He stood nearly a foot taller than her and—judging by the strained appearance of his T-shirt across his torso—spent entirely too much time at the gym. Based on just his physique, Coach Hamell would have snapped the guy up at the first opportunity, yet she didn’t recognize him from any Varsity team.

Leaning the elbow of his left arm against the locker next to hers, he rested his cheek on his closed fist, donning a smug smile. The expression annoyed her, and while she prided herself on not judging a book by its cover, she instantly _despised_ him. Bracing herself for a painful interaction, she gave him a sardonic look.

“Um... hi? Do I know you?”

“No,” he inspected the fingernails on his right hand briefly and then returned his gaze to her, “which is why you've been missing out. The name's Curtis.” He finished with a wink.

Oh good LORD. _Did that actually just happen!?_ Bianca wasn't sure whether to laugh or cringe from sheer second-hand embarrassment. His reply felt like it would have been perfectly at home in some terrible Internet article on how to pick up chicks.

She gave him a pained smile. Pulling out her Genetics textbook and notebook from her backpack, she then placed them inside her locker before looking back up at him. “Well, thanks for the introduction, but I really have to head to class. I guess I'm just going to have to keep missing out.”

Curtis' smile wavered for a moment, but he regained his composure remarkably fast. “Okay, I get it. You broke up with Adam not that long ago. You're still not entirely over it, and like, that's totally normal! Hell, most people around here were sad when they heard.” He placed his hand over his heart in a pseudo-sympathetic gesture. “We were all rooting for you guys. Definitely deserved that ‘ _Cutest Couple_ ’ award last Valentine's Day.”

At this, Bianca internally rolled her eyes while Curtis resumed his romantic pitch: “But like, that's why you _should_ be getting back out there. You're never going to get over him if you just dismiss everybody. And I honestly think if you gave me a chance,” he took her hand and stroked his thumb across the skin, “I could _at least_ make you forget about him for a while.”

She bristled and yanked her hand away from him. “Listen,” she snapped, grabbing her Economics books to shove in her backpack, “I don't really care for this... this... bizarre manipulation tactic. I will deal with my break-up on _my_ terms, and nobody else”—she gave a broad sweeping gesture—“gets to determine that, including _you_. Is that clear?” She reinforced her point by slamming her locker door.

“Wait!” He grabbed her arm before she could leave.

Gritting her teeth, she turned to face him, flashing him the most menacing glare she could muster. “Let. Me. Go.”

The display caught the attention of a few students, and a small group started to form around them. Instead of reassuring Bianca, the audience only served to make Curtis' forward attitude all the more uncomfortable, and she wished they would disperse.

Curtis didn't seem to register the onlookers and gave her a pleading look. “I think if you just stopped to think things over—”

“ _I don't care what you think! Now, let. Me. GO!”_

The outburst elicited a few gasps, causing Curtis to finally notice the crowd that had gathered at their altercation. He grudgingly released her arm. “Fine. Whatever. You're a fucking cunt anyway.”

Bianca whipped around and stormed off. She had a strong urge to flip him off but managed to take a couple deep breaths as she walked, forcing herself to remain levelheaded. _Keep calm. Don’t make this scene any bigger than it needs to be. He's not worth your time._

***

Amanda and Lakeisha caught up with her not long after her encounter with the giant douchebag.

“Hey, who was that?” Amanda asked, knitting her eyebrows together.

“Some creepy ass dude, that's for sure,” Lakeisha scoffed.

Bianca nodded, rolling her shoulders to relieve some tension.

It had been a little while since she’d had to deal with a situation like that. For the most part, she'd been lucky in regard to unwanted attention during her break-up. Adam's popularity had made many potential suitors stay away out of loyalty, meaning that she was a little rusty in dealing with guys who lacked the word “ _no_ ” in their vocabulary.

Amanda glanced behind her to check for the guy. “I don't know,” she murmured. “He was kind of cute.” Both Bianca and Lakeisha shot her a glare, and she gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry... sorry... I know, I've got a type.”

“Having a type isn't the problem. Love yourself, girl.” Lakeisha shook her head, dark hair swaying from side to side.

Pulling ahead of the other two, Bianca cast an anxious look back at them. “Come on, class starts in a minute. We've gotta hurry.”

They ran the rest of the way to the classroom and barely managed to take their seats before the bell. Mrs. Fenwick pursed her lips at their near tardiness but then began her lecture on the principles of supply and demand, with Bianca scribbling down notes as she talked. When class ended, she bade goodbye to Amanda and Lakeisha as they headed off to English, while she made her way toward Pre-Calc.

By the time that period ended, Bianca had all but forgotten the uncomfortable encounter by the locker. She rejoined Amanda and Lakeisha in the hallway but immediately had to hug the wall as several faculty members rushed through. A murmur of confusion went through the crowd, everyone wondering what had caused the teachers to appear so panicked. Bianca and her friends added their own musings, then continued on their way.

However, they stopped when Amanda gasped after glancing out a window. “There's an ambulance outside!”

Bianca and Lakeisha confirmed it for themselves, and they all gave each other alarmed looks.

“Shit, what do you think happened?” Lakeisha breathed.

A girl with curly, auburn hair rushed up to them, holding her phone in one hand. “Hey, do you guys know what’s going on?”

“No.” Bianca shook her head. “We were actually just wondering that. Do you know anything?”

The girl, Gretchen, frowned down at her phone. “Apparently, there was a fight near the West Entrance. Don't know who all was involved, but one kid is supposedly hurt pretty bad.” She tore her gaze away and leaned in. “I heard a couple people say that huge kid who showed up today is the one who started it.”

Lakeisha let out a gasp, then faced Bianca. “Crap, I've been hearing stuff about that all day. Bianca, I think that's the same guy who hit on you earlier!”

“Really?” Bianca gaped, sorting through her own mental archive. There had been rumors. Things she had mostly ignored, dismissing the grapevine and its distortion of events. But... was there some truth to this?

Gretchen frowned again. “What happened to Bianca? Somebody tell me what's going on.”

Bianca rubbed her arm as Gretchen stared at her expectantly. The girl had a well-deserved reputation as a gossip, and the story would be all over the school as soon as the words left her lips. However, gossip or not, Gretchen was her friend and did have a right to know. Plus, there had been enough conflict for today; she didn’t need more.

Taking a deep breath, she recounted the events that had occurred after lunch, Lakeisha making a disgusted face while Amanda and Gretchen nodded along.

“Curtis, huh?” Gretchen ran her tongue over her teeth, deep in thought. “I don't recognize that name.”

“I... might?” Amanda sounded uncertain, brow furrowed in concentration. “I feel like I've seen it before?”

“Are you guys talking about Curtis Henderson?”

They collectively jumped as Holly turned the corner, seeming to materialize out of thin air.

“Maybe,” Lakeisha said. “All we know is some jackass named Curtis hit on Bianca after lunch and now might be involved in that fight that just happened.”

Holly wrinkled her nose. “Oh, I feel so sorry for you if it was him. That guy is the worst!”

“You know him?” Amanda asked.

Nodding, she continued, “Yeah, I had a class with him last year. He is _literally_ the grossest person.” She laughed, shaking her head. “He's like a freaking dwarf; I can’t believe he even tried to hit on you, Bianca.”

“A... dwarf?” Bianca cocked her head to the side, and Holly nodded again.

“Girl, I saw that guy. He was literally the opposite of a dwarf. Couldn't have been him,” Lakeisha claimed, to which Gretchen raised a finger.

“Well... one of the rumors I heard about this guy was that he used to be pretty short and just recently got this tall.”

Holly's face could have been used under the dictionary definition for disbelief. “There's no way it's the same person. I saw Curtis on Tuesday, and he was his usual tiny self.”

“I don't know, that's part of the rumor too—that he just grew super rapidly.”

She looked a little perturbed at Gretchen's comments. “That's... that's impossible. Nobody grows that fast.”

Gretchen shrugged, but Holly's expression remained the same, uneasiness etched into every feature.

Bianca couldn't blame her. As far as she was concerned, stuff like that just wasn't supposed to happen.


	14. West Entrance Showdown

What a fucking bitch. Seriously, no wonder she was single now, if that was how she acted to anybody who was interested.

Curtis fumed throughout the entirety of his next class, too irritated to try to fuck with all the people who kept giving him odd looks. Even the teacher kept staring, and truth be told, the novelty was wearing off a little, and he was getting aggravated at the constant attention.

His anger still hadn't subsided by the time class was over, so he found Malcolm and bitched to him. The guy didn't say much—he didn't seem to have much to say besides bullshit the last few times they’d talked anyway—and Curtis had walked away still pissed.

He went to the Commons to brood during his free when his pocket vibrated. The text was, of course, from Krystal, and his annoyance ebbed a little—he could use her to vent some of his frustration. He texted her to meet him, not surprised in the slightest when his phone received a message almost immediately afterward. Her response read, “ _in class.”_ He rolled his eyes.

“ _So? just leave”_ he sent back and waited a moment, drumming his fingers on the arm of his couch. She replied that she would be right there. All right, looking good so far.

A couple minutes later, Krystal showed up. She seemed a little cowed at the sight of him but went and sat down after he patted the spot to his side.

He smiled at her. “What's up?”

“You've been ignoring me!” she shot back, lower lip quivering as she pointed at him. “And what's up with this?” she continued, sweeping her hand up and down to emphasize his height.

“I told you I was going through a growth spurt.”

“Yeah, you did! But... what...” She scrunched up her face, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “There are rumors all over the school, and I'm pretty sure they're about your... growth spurt.” When she opened her eyes, an almost betrayed look glistened in them. “You didn't think I might want a heads-up? My friends are basically interrogating me!”

Oh boy, damage control time. Clasping her hand in his, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “I didn't want you to be worried about me, so I kept putting off telling you. I was just really anxious about how you would react. I am really sorry though; I know I need to communicate more.” _Hopefully, she eats this up._

To his delight, a smile played at the corners of her lips as she lowered her eyelashes, the action both alluring and adorable. “Okay... apology accepted.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks. “Just... let me know about this kind of stuff in the future. I promise I won't get worried.”

Curtis nodded while his internal self tapped his foot impatiently. He didn't really feel like talking anymore. Thankfully, neither did she. Before long, he was holding her in his lap with his tongue in her mouth, her legs on either side of him and his hands tangled up in her hair.

Her braces were still abrasive, but she smelled good and felt soft, so he powered through it. However, someone yelling, “ _Get a room!_ ” took him out of the moment. He broke away, scowling at a group of three girls who appeared disgusted by the public display of affection.

“Fine,” he snapped and stood up, sweeping Krystal up in his arms as he marched off.

A slight twinge of satisfaction passed through him at both the faint “ _holy shit_ ” behind him and the gentle pressure of Krystal resting her head against his chest. Finding an empty bathroom, he gave her a devious grin, which she returned in kind.

Several minutes later, they finally stopped panting. Curtis took a step back as he lowered Krystal to the floor, adjusting his shorts once she was on her feet. The stall certainly hadn’t been as nice as her bedroom, but it made do; and besides—this wasn't their first bathroom excursion.

Krystal rested her chin against him, craning her neck to look up at him with her pretty, blue eyes. The look was undeniably adorable, and as he stroked her hair a small flutter went up in his chest; she really was cute, even if she wasn't nearly as attractive as Bianca.

Smiling, she ran her fingers along the ridges of his bare abdomen. “I gotta say... while it was a little shocking to see you at first, I'm kind of digging this growth spurt.”

“Glad you like it,” he replied, to which she stood on her toes.

She pouted when she wasn't tall enough to reach him. “Bend down, I want to kiss you!”

He complied, both of them remaining lip-locked for a couple minutes before Curtis couldn't stand the feel of her braces anymore.

“So,” she said as they separated, wrapping her arms around his waist, “I wanted to talk to you about plans for tomorrow when we go clothes shopping.”

Oh shit. He'd totally forgotten about that with everything that had happened today. He managed a forced smile down at her as she began detailing far more information than what should have been required for buying an outfit. Curtis’ good mood slipped away, bit by bit, as she prattled on.

“And that's all,” she finally gushed.

Her smile wavered upon seeing his look of utter disinterest—he had stopped attempting to pay attention around a minute into her spiel.

“I know it's a lot, but I promise I'll make it up to you.” She gave him one of her mischievous smiles and traced her hand along his thigh. Slipping her fingers under the waistband of his shorts, she only smiled wider as his breath hitched in his throat.

 _Oh fuck._ A shudder ran through him, and he dug his nails into her waist, his pulse quickening at her ministrations.

“I've got quite a few tricks, mister,” she purred. “Just you wait until after Homecoming.”

“Y-yeah,” he panted, not really registering her words—all he could think about right now was how much he didn't want her to stop.

She gave a small giggle, nuzzling the skin on his chest. “Saturday is going to be a really good day, I just know it.”

He nodded, then stopped as the one still functioning part of his brain reminded him he had made plans with Malcolm for Saturday night. Oh fuck, no wonder Malcolm had been so pissed at him. His conscience would eat him alive if he let the guy down, but then again, if he canceled on Krystal... shit, this was going to be bad.

 _No, you idiot_ , the little voice in his head said crossly, _this is great. It's the perfect excuse to get out of having to go to Homecoming with her._

“Hey... uh... Krystal...” he managed to stammer between pants, “there's... uh... something I forgot to... uh... mention to you... about Saturday...”

She blinked up at him, pace slowing as concern overtook her once relaxed expression. “What about Saturday?”

“Well... uh... I just remembered... that... uh... I made plans with Malcolm... for Saturday night... so actually I can't... go...” he murmured, mentally preparing himself for the worst.

The anxiety in Krystal's features only intensified as she withdrew her hand. “What? But can't Malcolm just come to Homecoming too?”

Curtis rubbed the back of his neck, wishing she would resume her previous actions. “Well... it's not really his thing...”

“You're canceling on me for freaking Malcolm!”

He nearly did a double take at her outburst. Even so, he still stared dumbfounded down at her. “Um... yes?”

Those pretty, blue eyes just gazed up at him in response, brimming with hurt and confusion. Guilt nibbled at the corners of his consciousness and only became stronger as she sniffled out, “But don't you like me?”

“Of course I do!” he cried out, having to stop his hand from rubbing the back of his neck again. “It's just... well... maybe I don't like you as much as you like... me...”

He cringed internally as soon as the words left his mouth. Fuck, they sounded lame even to him.

Setting her mouth in a hard line, Krystal pushed herself away from him and wiped her eyes. “Yeah, don’t think you gotta worry about that anymore. I’m gonna go back to class. I don't even know why I came here in the first place.”

She quickly fixed her blouse and skirt, and Curtis blurted out, “Aw, can't you finish?”

The sheer disgust on her face could have killed a man. “Finish yourself!” she snapped, then stalked out of the bathroom without wishing him goodbye.

He stood in the stall alone for a moment, unsure of what to feel. Well, one thing was for certain—he really didn't want to go the rest of the day with blue balls, so probably best to take her advice.

When he finished, he looked up and came to a shudder-inducing realization—he could see over the stall partition. What if he had accidentally made eye contact with someone? Shit, maybe he was getting too tall...

No. Fuck that. He'd always hated being short; this was infinitely preferable.

Pulling on his shirt, he then exited the stall and headed toward the sink, idly scratching his hand as he did so. God, what the fuck was up with this? He glared down at it, running his fingers over the surface—it did feel rather dry. When washing his hands, he used the moment to inspect the black speck on the back of his right one. While he couldn't be sure, it did look a little bigger than yesterday, and as he traced a fingertip over it, he found that it was very hard and slightly raised.

After drying off, he took a step back and gazed at himself in the mirror: strong arms, solid chest, and broad shoulders tapering to a V-shape at his waist. _Man, fuck Krystal and Bianca_. He placed his hands on his hips. _I look pretty fucking good. Definitely not too tall._

Once he left the bathroom, he wandered the empty corridors of the school, too bored to care about hall monitors. There wasn't much time left in his free, and he didn't really feel like heading to class next period anyway. Maybe he could try to go home sick or something; hell, the hunger pangs hurt bad enough…

The creak of a door accompanied by several snorts of laughter distracted him, and he turned a corner to where four glassy-eyed people entered the school from the West Entrance. His lip curled as he immediately recognized the group—Joel and his stupid fucking gang. From the looks of it, they were all high out of their minds and not even attempting to hide the fact.

One of the members, Greg, had just finished a bag of chips and kept throwing the piece of trash at Parker's head while laughing. Parker swatted lazily every time the bag came near him, with Joel and Dan giggling at the spectacle.

Curtis’ distaste grew stronger, and the only thought he could muster was— _They're all fucking retarded_.

Crossing his arms, he called out, “You know you should probably just throw that away—littering is really bad for the environment.”

The group turned in unison, and Parker's mouth opened wide in a slack-jawed circle. “Hey... why the fuck you look like that?”

Dan burst into laughter. “I heard about this! He made a costume for today. Guess baby Curtis got tired of being a midget and wanted to look bigger.” He wiped his eyes, then gazed blearily with dilated pupils. “It looks pretty realistic though. Didn't know you were such an _artiste_ , Curtis.”

Greg patted Joel on the back. “Hey, let's tear up his stupid costume. We haven't messed with him in a while, and he looks like he's getting a little lippy.”

Nodding, Joel grinned stupidly. “Yeah... we haven't.” He sauntered over to Curtis—almost stumbling as he went—and then stood in front of him, eyebrows creasing as he scanned over their noticeable height and weight difference.

Arms still folded in front of his chest, Curtis continued to give an unimpressed glare. “So... what you got planned, Joel?” He cocked his head to the side and flashed a toxic smile.

“You're not fooling anybody, you know,” Joel murmured, a slight edge creeping into his voice. His slap-happy state seemed to have faded a little upon getting closer.

Curtis smiled wider. “What do you mean?”

With a scowl, Joel snapped, “This fucking shit you glued on you or something.” He gestured at Curtis' torso. “Did you mold something together and then put it on? How fucking pathetic are you?” He then shoved Curtis in the chest, only to immediately recoil.

Curtis gave him a bemused look in response, even as he snapped a mental photo of the obvious disconcertion. “Feel better?” he taunted.

Uneasiness continued to spread across Joel’s face. Swallowing, he glanced nervously back at his expectant audience, who called out, “Kick his ass, Joel!”

“Come on, Joel,” Curtis cooed, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “Can't let your buds down. You'd have to be a pretty big pussy to not beat up ' _baby Curtis_.'”

Joel bared his teeth. “Fuck you, man,” he spat, then swung a fist.

Truth be told, Curtis had never been very good at dodging his blows. No matter how ready he was, he always seemed to miss his timing or not move fast enough, meaning that a second later he would feel the full force of the punch. But that was the past; this was now.

Joel blinked as Curtis caught the oncoming fist. Grinning, he twisted the boy's arm while closing his own hand in preparation. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

Curtis slammed his fist into Joel’s gut. He savored the widening eyes and the sharp gasp of pain. In fact, he couldn’t help but laugh. Adrenaline pumped through him as Joel fell to the floor, clutching his stomach.

“What the fuck!” Parker screeched. He charged at Curtis, swinging wildly.

One of the blows caught him in the side of his jaw, and he flinched at the impact. However, years of pent-up rage fueled him. He threw Parker to the floor. Teeth bared, he then kicked him in the ribs to make sure he stayed down.

Unfortunately, Dan and Greg caught him off guard when they attacked him at the same time. One of them leaped on his back. The other came at his front. They ripped at his hair and clawed at his face simultaneously, screaming out some unintelligible gibberish.

After blindly fending off the one in front, Curtis slammed the one on his back into the wall behind him repeatedly. Whether it was Dan or Greg remained uncertain; Curtis was too fired up to recognize who was who. Once freed, he socked the other one in the face. The connection of fist to skin sounded beautiful as the guy fell like a sack of potatoes.

Breathing hard now, he turned to where Joel had staggered to his feet. They took one look at each other before Joel bolted toward the West Entrance, Curtis in hot pursuit. He soon caught up and tackled the guy, wrestling with him once they were both on the ground. Pinning Joel's arms underneath his body, Curtis straddled him and grabbed his hair.

He slammed his head into the floor. A savage grin appeared at the weak gasp the action elicited. Striking him across the cheek, he then closed his fist and smashed it into his nose. He internally roared at the horrible crunching noise it made.

Curtis struck him again. Zeroed in on his target, he continued to pound Joel's face, oblivious to the world around him. Nothing else mattered, not even the pain coursing through his hand as his knuckles split open at the repeated impact.

A faint screaming arose behind him, but he didn't acknowledge it until someone grabbed his arm. Giving a hateful glare at whoever stopped him, he was surprised when a middle-aged man—probably a teacher—stared back. The man, ghost-white and trembling, kept glancing back and forth between Curtis and the nightmarish mess of blood that was Joel’s face.

Coming back to reality, Curtis swiveled his head toward the gathered crowd. Faculty members attempted to keep gawking students away from the crime scene while Principal Symcox hurried through.

“What in Jesus’ name is going on here!” he yelled, and the middle-aged man by Curtis' side flagged him down.

“Somebody call an ambulance! This kid is hurt really bad!” the man cried.

The next moment, a furious Symcox pulled Curtis to his feet. Ushering him along, the principal gave some final instructions to several of the faculty members in the area as Curtis’ stomach sank into his feet.

He was going to be in a lot of trouble.


	15. Tea for the Soul

Walking up the stairs to Curtis' apartment felt like the longest trek in Malcolm’s life despite only heading to the second floor. While only burdened with his backpack and a bag of food, the load still rested heavily in his sweaty hands. When he finally made it to the landing, he stared at the closed door, willing himself to knock.

If he thought his morning had been eventful and full of gossip, the afternoon turned it into a tsunami of chaos. Even though he hadn't witnessed Curtis' interaction with Bianca himself, he had guessed the outcome after the furious girl rushed past him in the hallway. This was confirmed after fifth period when Curtis showed up at his locker.

“ ** _She's a fucking bitch, seriously,_** ” Curtis had fumed, scowling as he looked at the floor. “ ** _She made this giant spectacle out of it and started acting all hysterical. Like, fucking hell, what's your problem? Do you try to embarrass everybody who asks you out?_** ” Shaking his head, he had then stared off into space. “ ** _I just don't get it. What the fuck does Adam have that I don't?_** "

No idea magically appeared, so Malcolm had just given an awkward shrug.

He honestly couldn't say. From a physical standpoint, Curtis wasn't bad-looking and was probably now more impressive physique-wise than Adam, even if he wasn't quite as handsome. From the personality side, Malcolm didn't actually know Adam, had no idea what he was like—perhaps he had a bit more tact when it came to women. Malcolm hadn't thought all that highly of how Curtis treated Krystal; based on that, had the guy really been that respectful when talking with Bianca?

Things only got worse after Malcolm caught wind of the fight. At first, nobody knew exactly who had been involved, but eventually word got around that Joel Scalf got the snot beat out of him and had to be rushed to the hospital. Reeling from the information, Malcolm had spent the last period in a haze, too shocked to care about the exercises Coach Pierson put them through during Gym.

‘ _Knock. Knock. Knock.’_

The motion of his fist on the door brought him back to the present. He held his breath, clutching the bag of food closer to his chest in preparation. A couple of excruciating seconds later, someone unlocked the deadbolt, and the door swung open.

It took all of his willpower not to gape at the enormous figure peering down at him. _Holy cow, is it speeding up or something?_ Curtis now stood over a foot taller than him, and while the shirt hadn't fit well that morning, it had started to look painted on.

Collecting himself, he sputtered, “I... uh... just wanted to... uh... check up on you.” At Curtis' stoic expression, he quickly held out the bag of food. “Look, I got some tacos for you... from the _Torres Cabana._ I know how much you like that place!”

Curtis nodded and accepted the bag, inviting him inside.

He crinkled his nose at the faint cigarette smoke while Curtis lumbered over to a small table laden with food next to the kitchen counter.

Once he was seated, Malcolm asked, “Uh... so... how are you?”

“Suspended.” Curtis glared at the top of the table for a moment, digging his nails into its surface. He then imitated Principal Symcox in a mocking tone: _“'Because this is your first offense and the other boys confirmed Joel initiating the fight, I'm only going to suspend you for a couple weeks instead of expulsion. You can come back to school after that.'”_ He snorted. “Fucking rich. Joel beat me up all the time, but heh, who cares about that? His mom is the secretary and fucks the superintendent; of course he never gets into trouble _._ ”

Malcolm shifted from foot to foot as Curtis finished his tirade, desperately wracking his brain for something to say.

Curtis beat him to it. “Thanks for the food,” he mumbled in-between bites.

Malcolm jerked before grinning shakily. “Y-yeah, no problem. So,” he began, fidgeting as Curtis inhaled the tacos, “the school gave an update on Joel's condition. He's got a minor concussion, a broken nose, and some stitches, but he's going to be okay; and apparently, he's going to be back in school on Monday.” He gave an awkward laugh. “I even saw some people sharing Courtney's status on Facebook, where she said he plans to make an appearance at the Homecoming dance. I don't know if that's such a good idea so soon after a concussion, but hey, that's none of my business.”

A glare came Malcolm’s way as Curtis said, “Why do you think I care about any of that shit?”

It took Malcolm aback. For a moment, he opened and closed his mouth uselessly before his voice returned: “Well... I just thought... you know... you'd want to know if anything serious happened to him... because like... apparently you beat him up pretty bad, Curtis...”

“Yeah, I know. His mom wants to press charges.”

Malcolm's eyes widened. “Oh... oh my God...” He fidgeted again. “Have you gotten any advice on what to do... like... can you ask your mom?”

Curtis barked out a hollow laugh and slammed his hand on the table. “You think _she'd_ be any fucking help!? She didn't even pick up her phone when the principal called!” A pained look flitted across his face as he breathed, “The only reason she even knows how old I am is because she keeps reminding me I need to move out when the school year is up.”

“Oh... I—”

“It doesn't matter though,” he said bitterly, finishing off the tacos with one last huge bite. He swallowed and then gathered up the trash into a pile. “Even if they do press charges, I'll just deal with it. It was still worth it to smash his face in.” He grinned. “Hell, I wished you hadn't told me he'd be okay. I was kind of hoping the fucker died.”

“Curtis!” Malcolm's mouth hung open, disturbed to his very core.

Curtis gave him a weary look in response. “What is it, Malcolm?”

He swallowed, whispering, “You don't... mean that... right?”

“And if I did, so what? The only thing the guy's good for is wasting oxygen.”

“That's a horrible thing to say!” He was shaking now, an urgent desire to leave the apartment washing over him, but he held his ground.

Curtis' weary expression dissolved as anger clouded his features. “Yeah, it is! And he did a bunch of horrible shit! Like, fucking hell, you got your first kiss taken away from you because of that asshole!”

 _Yeah, to you._ Folding his arms, he murmured, “I thought you said that didn't count because I didn't want it.” He held his chin up and glared, even as Curtis gritted his teeth.

“Okay, _Malcolm,_ but it doesn't change the fact that it _still fucking happened!_ I would think you of all people would understand why I hate the guy so much!”

“Just because I hate him doesn't mean I want him dead!” Malcolm shot back, clenching his fists and staring Curtis down.

Curtis rose out of his chair to his full height, and Malcolm’s bravado scurried off at the towering figure.

“What the fuck do you know!?” he screamed as Malcolm cowered, taking a step back. “You've lived here for what—a year? That's all you've had to endure. Me!? I've been putting up with his shit my entire goddamn life! Like, if you knew some of the stuff he did—hoo boy—you wouldn't be scolding me right now like some kind of fucking hippie.” Fuming, he snatched up the wrappers still on the table and walked over to an overflowing trashcan, shoving it in.

Malcolm blinked for a moment—dear God, the state of the kitchen. He'd been so focused on Curtis that he hadn't noticed the multiple bulging trash bags and the mountainous pile of pots and plates in the sink. Nausea rose to the surface as he swallowed, asking in a horrified whisper, “Curtis... how much have you eaten the past few days?”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Curtis groaned. “Not this shit again...”

Malcolm wandered over to one of the trash bags, making out the shape of dozens of frozen meal containers among other assorted boxes and wrappers. He then glanced up at Curtis, a cold shiver running down his spine—anyone who last saw the guy on Monday would have found him unrecognizable.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself even as his hands shook. “I know we agreed you would go to a doctor if you had any negative symptoms, but I am begging you— _begging you_ —to go to a doctor as soon as possible.”

“Malcolm, I'm going to give you until the count of three to leave,” Curtis hissed.

Shaking his head, he took a step closer to the other boy. “This isn't natural! I've been trying to rationalize it, I really have, but Curtis... Jesus! Have you seen yourself recently!?”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, asking someone ' _have you seen yourself'!?_ ” Curtis roared, grabbing Malcolm's arm only to earn a surprised shriek. “Do you ever fucking look at yourself!?”

Malcolm fought back tears, weakly crying out, “Curtis... you're hurting me!”

Curtis just sneered at him. “Well then, why don't _you_ go to a doctor? Maybe they can also give you something to help you not be such a fucking fatass all the time!” He jabbed Malcolm in the gut with unnervingly sharp nails, then snarled, “Do you know how bad all this shit is for you!? You keep claiming you want to be a doctor, but you can't even fucking take care of yourself!”

A sob tore out of Malcolm's mouth at the abuse. He squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away as his body shuddered with each labored breath. “I want to go home now,” he choked out, and the force relaxed from Curtis' death grip.

Once released, Malcolm faced Curtis as he rubbed the back of his neck, looking at anything but Malcolm’s shaking form. When he spoke, his voice sounded oddly faraway: “Okay... that would be a good idea... I think... I think we both need space.”

Malcolm sniffled. He clutched his arm where Curtis had grabbed him, still trembling.

Curtis exhaled, long and slow. “That was me telling you to go, Malcolm.” He gave him a hollow stare. “Your mom is probably wondering where you are.”

At that, Malcolm raced out of the apartment, not even bothering to rebut that he had texted Mom before arriving, because why did it matter? Not when Curtis was trying to hurt him like this, not when nothing made sense, not when the sinking dread in the pit of his stomach kept telling him over and over again— _You did this to him._

***

He finally stopped running several hundred feet away from the apartment. Breathing heavily, Malcolm slowed down as his adrenaline faded, leaving behind an awful mixture of guilt and horror. He continued to walk, but tears crept unbidden down his face, and soon, a constant trickle blurred his glasses, leaving him wandering aimlessly.

He stopped and sat on a park bench to try to compose himself. It didn't work; instead, his self-loathing and dread surged anew. He began to hyperventilate, clutching his pant leg as he attempted to rein in his panic.

When that subsided, he stared blankly down at the grass at his feet, a strange numbness settling over him after such a maelstrom of a reaction. Deep down, he knew what he had to do. He couldn't sit around any longer. He needed to tell someone about the formula, confess to his and Curtis' ‘adventure,’ and get the guy some help. Consequences or not, he had to stop pretending everything was all right when it clearly wasn't.

Now with a plan in mind, Malcolm got up and started walking. Soon, he was standing in front of his house, gazing at the gladioli by the front porch and watching them sway in the cool October breeze.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned to where Bianca Torres strolled up the path to her own home a few houses down. The incident between her and Curtis earlier in the day surfaced, and an impulsive thought snaked its way into his mind before he blurted out, “Hey, are you all right?”

She jumped at the noise, eyes widening. “Excuse me?”

Malcolm gave himself a mental kick for scaring her and stammered, “Uh... sorry, I was just wondering if you were doing okay after your run-in with... Curtis.” He found it difficult to force the name out of his mouth, almost as if it were reluctant to form the syllables.

Letting out a sigh, Bianca nodded. “I figured word would get around sooner or later about that." She gave him a small smile. “I am fine. A little weirded out that he got in a fight right after, but fine. Thank you for asking though.” She then narrowed her eyes, examining his face. “What grade are you in? I feel like I've had a class with you.”

“Oh!” The question caught him off guard—he had never thought of himself as someone to notice, especially not by someone as popular as Bianca. “I'm a senior. I moved here last year, but I still feel like I'm figuring everything out.” An awkward laugh forced its way out of his mouth, and—upon noticing Bianca's silence—he began to fidget. He should probably leave her alone. She probably didn't want to talk to hi—

“Do you want to come over?” she said, tilting her head in the direction of her house.

“Now?”

She let out a musical laugh to his bewildered expression. “We've been neighbors for a year now, and yet I've never actually talked to you. That's kind of rude, and if you have nothing else going on, I'd like to fix it.”

He stalled for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. _A few minutes won't hurt._ “Yeah.” He hoisted his backpack up and trotted along the sidewalk, closing the gap between them. “That sounds really nice. Thank you.”

They walked to her front door together, after which he held it open so she could enter. Once inside, Malcolm took a cursory glance around at the Torres residence. It looked like any standard suburban home, and a slight twinge of disappointment pricked him that it wasn’t more exotic, before he mentally scolded himself for assuming her parents had to be 'exotic' just because they were immigrants. Regardless, the earth-tone colors and contemporary furniture had a calming effect on his troubled mind. The place looked _lived-in_ , and he smiled despite the horrendous last hour.

After they deposited their backpacks by the front door, Bianca led him into the kitchen and offered him a chair. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked as he hesitantly sat down in one of the well-worn seats.

“No,” he replied and then quickly added, “but thank you for the offer!” He couldn't believe he'd almost forgotten to show courtesy.

Busying herself, Bianca filled a kettle and then set it on the stove, sitting opposite him and crossing one leg over another once she was finished. “I don't ever think I caught your name. I'm Bianca.” She held out her hand, and he gave a clumsy handshake, hoping she wouldn't notice his clammy grip.

“Malcolm. Malcolm Sanders.”

Her eyes widened. “Hey... are you in Reeder's AP Bio class?”

“Yeah, I am. Why do you ask?”

She grinned. “Well, because he talks about you all the time in Genetics. I don't know what you did, but he thinks you're like the next Einstein or something.”

Blood rushed into his cheeks. “Oh... wow... I didn't know that.”

Nodding, she said, “Yeah. He really thinks you're something else. I've heard that's not an easy thing to accomplish.”

Malcolm shifted and glanced down at his hands, cognizant of the heat still lingering in his face. Clearing his throat, he wracked his brain for something to break the quiet. His train of thought seemed to be stalling, so he forced the first thing that came to mind: “So, did you just come back from cheerleader practice?” _No duh, Malcolm..._

“I did.” She got up to turn off the stove burner, then poured the hot water into a mug before placing a tea bag inside to steep. She glanced up at him after resuming her seat. “Sure you don't want any?”

“I'm sure.” He watched her for a moment, still internally wringing his neck, before going for broke; he’d spoken to her for a reason, and it might as well be the next topic of conversation. “I know you said you were fine,” he murmured, “but I am really sorry if Curtis bothered you. He isn't normally like that.” _Well, not usually THIS bad._

Surprise flitted across her face before her gaze hardened, and she leaned back in her chair warily. “Are you... trying to convince me to give him a second chance?”

“No, holy cow, no!”

Amusement replaced her wariness at the forcefulness of his words, and she relaxed. “Oh okay... I got scared there for a second.”

Malcolm laughed. “Yeah, I am not trying to do that, not for one second. He just told me earlier about what happened, and with the way he's been acting recently, I assumed there was more to the story and that he was probably being more of a jerk than he let on.”

The candidness of his statement surprised him, and Bianca apparently felt the same way, albeit for a different reason. Her eyebrows rose as she asked, “He told you about it?”

“Uh... yeah... we're... um... friends...” The last word tasted bitter on his tongue, and she stared at him in incredulity.

“I never would have guessed. You seem a lot nicer than him.”

He shrugged, and she continued, “So what _exactly_ did he say about me?”

“He called you a female dog and said you made a scene just to embarrass him.”

Bianca glowered at her tea. “Figures. So he didn't mention anything about him making manipulative comments trying to convince me to sleep with him and then grabbing my arm after I told him I wasn't interested and refusing to let go until I yelled at him, after which he called me a cunt?”

Malcolm stared at her, wide-eyed. “No... he did not mention that.”

Groaning, she leaned back in her chair. “I forgot how awful guys can be—Adam spoiled me.”

“Then how come you broke up with him?” He shrank immediately after the thought left his mouth. “Oh God, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to ask that, that was really insensitive of—”

“It's a fair question.”

To his surprise, she didn't appear angry in the slightest and instead just stared into the darkening contents of her mug.

“The short answer is that it's kind of a long story.” She tugged on the string of the tea bag, her eyes clouded over with a soft sadness.

“Well... if you want to talk about it...” he offered, and she laughed in reply.

“I don't want to bore you.”

“I won't be bored. But if you don't want to talk about it, I understand.”

She raised her gaze, sighing, and then smiled wistfully to herself. “We met through mutual friends at a party our sophomore year. We talked briefly, exchanged numbers, but nothing more than that. We were both dating other people at the time, so I remember saving him in my phone as ‘ _Brown Hair Party Guy,_ ’ and he probably had some equally ridiculous name for me. Eventually, I broke up with Derek—the guy I was dating at that time—and met a guy named Trent. That relationship didn't work out either, and then one day in the summer between sophomore and junior year, I was hanging out with some friends, and he was there as well. A bunch of people wanted to head down to the lake, but it was late, and neither of us were really feeling up to it. We were the only ones though, so we said goodbye to everybody else and just walked around the town talking.”

Her face softened, the memory obviously something she held dear. Malcolm couldn't help but be immersed in the gentle lull of her voice as she resumed.

“We talked for a long time—until the sun came up, probably a good six hours or so—and I remember how natural it felt, how I didn't feel pressured in the slightest to try and impress him or laugh. When I did laugh, it was because his jokes were actually funny, and I never felt like he thought of me as anything more than a good conversation partner. I hung out with him a few more times with friends, and then right before school was about to start, he asked me on a date.”

She laughed, shaking her head and letting her wavy hair sweep across her shoulders while he smiled in reciprocation, eagerly leaning forward.

“I was so nervous! And then it didn't help that he wore a dress shirt and a tie and he brought flowers. Flowers! For a first date! And he went inside and shook my dad's hand and wasn't bothered at all when my dad said, ' _Be home by ten or else_.' And then we went to a little outdoor concert—the last one that was being held for the summer—and got dinner at _Luigi's_ afterward, and it was honestly the best first date of my life.”

Malcolm nodded along, and she dipped the tea bag a few times in the hot water, a faraway look in her eye as she reminisced. “And from there, everything was still great. He was always so innovative and romantic, and we never ran out of things to talk about. We talked literally every night on the phone—as old-fashioned as that sounds—and it was the best part of my day. But not only that, if we were hanging out and there was a lull in the conversation, it wasn't awkward. We were just content to be around each other—it's really rare to meet someone you can be quiet with.”

She took a deep breath and removed the tea bag, stirring the contents of the mug. “He was the first and only boy I've ever told ' _I love you_ ' to. And I don't regret saying it—he deserved it. I honestly believed he was The One for a while.”

Malcolm couldn't blame her—from everything she was saying, he was starting to believe _he_ was falling in love. If he didn't have a crush on the jock before, he was definitely smitten now.

Resting her hand on her chin, Bianca lowered her gaze. “Then, toward the end of last semester, my mom got diagnosed with breast cancer.”

He murmured out a sympathetic “I'm sorry,” and she smiled.

“It's all right, she's tough; and it's in remission now, but it was really scary there for a while. It wasn't Stage Four or anything, but her prognosis was still a little murky. My abuela—well, grandma even came up from Mexico to stay with us so she could help take care of the family.” She bit her lip, running her finger around the rim of the mug. “It... was one of the worst days of my life when I found out she had it. My mom is one of my best friends, and I couldn't imagine losing her. So I did everything I could to help her out while she was undergoing radiation and chemo.”

She stopped to take a sip of her tea, and Malcolm considered what he would do in such a situation. The thought seemed unbearable to him, and he quickly returned his attention to her.

“At first, Adam was really supportive. He's always been a good listener, and he was there when I just needed to cry. But over time, I could tell he was feeling a little ignored due to all the time I spent with my mom, going with her to doctor visits and running the house and whatnot. He wasn't used to only getting to see me once or twice a week, and it bothered him. He confronted me about it, and while I told him I was sorry, I also let him know that was all I could give him right then.”

She wiped an errant tear away from her eye, choking out, “I don't think he really understood how much she means to me. She's literally my whole world, and even though I loved him too, I couldn’t let her suffer alone.”

Sniffling, she went and grabbed a tissue, and Malcolm gave her a comforting smile. A small voice whispered that he had things to take care of, but he pushed it aside. He liked his present company, and he didn’t want to rush her when she was being so open.

Taking another deep breath, she wiped her eyes. “Even though things are a lot better now with my mom, she still has to deal with a lot.” She laughed. “I mean, I have four younger siblings. They can be a handful, and she doesn't have the same energy she used to after all the treatments. So finally, I let him know that it just wasn't working out and that he deserved somebody who could give him all the love and attention he needed.”

Malcolm nodded, exhaling at the gravity of the tale. “Wow... that was... I'm so sorry you had to go through all that. That... that was a really mature thing to realize.”

She smiled and took another sip. “Thank you. That means a lot.” Bringing her head up to meet his gaze, she sighed, her eyes conveying a strange serenity. “In the end... I learned a really important lesson. Before Adam, I'd always assumed I would know when I met The One.” Her mouth took on a bittersweet smile, and she shook her head. “Now I know that just because somebody is wonderful and treats you like a princess and is always there for you... it still doesn't mean they're right for you... or that you're right for them.”

She returned her gaze to her mug. “Because Adam is wonderful. But... I just don't think we're meant for each other. And even though I told him this when we broke up, he keeps insisting we can work it out; and I honestly don't think we can. Maybe it's selfish of me that I won't sit down and talk with him, but I just can't stand the thought of destroying him all over again.”

The front door opening caused her to jerk her head. “Oh my goodness, how long have I been talking!?” She gave him an apologetic look. “I... I'm sorry I made you sit through all that. You didn't need to hear all my baggage.”

“No! Don't apologize!” He shook his head and grinned at her. “That was a good story. I'm really glad I heard it.”

The smile she gave in response lit up the deep amber of her eyes and every inch of her face, a sight to which Malcolm could only stare in awe. Yes, she was beautiful physically—he understood why so many boys longed for her, even if he didn't—yet he could also see the innate radiance she possessed, that she was lovely not just for her raven hair and sparkling eyes and gorgeous skin, but also for her compassion and her love for her family. Curtis' vitriolic words slunk across his mind, and disgust welled up that anyone could view her in such a way.

His musings were cut short as two women—one with short, gray curls and the other with long, white hair—plus two young boys entered the kitchen, arms full of groceries. Bianca's mother stopped at the sight of him, surprise filling her eyes, and then grinned.

“Are you Laura's son, Malcolm?” she asked, her voice containing a slight lilt from her accent.

He nodded, and she laughed, setting her groceries down and giving him a hug. He froze at first but then returned the gesture, and as they pulled away, he noticed she had the same eyes as Bianca.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful, but I have a lot of stuff to do. Maybe some other time.” He flashed her an apologetic smile, and she nodded.

Turning to her eldest daughter—who grinned throughout the introduction—she fired off some rapid Spanish, and Bianca headed off to the front hallway, shouting, “ _Rosalia! Guillermo! Vengan abajo!”_ Shuffling noises came from upstairs and then a teenage boy and girl came bounding into the kitchen.

Malcolm’s cheeks flushed that two of Bianca's siblings had been in the house throughout the duration of their exchange, but that thought soon got pushed to the wayside as the room became a hubbub of chatter and groceries.

Bianca led him to the front door a moment later, a soft smile present on her lips. “Thanks for listening to me and seeing how I was doing. We should do this again sometime. I promise I'll talk about something a bit more cheerful.”

He nodded. “No problem. Thanks for the relationship advice. I've never had one, so I appreciate any tips I can get.”

She gave the same musical laugh as earlier. “Well, you'll find somebody. I'm sure any girl would be lucky to have you.”

Malcolm smiled sheepishly. “Yeah... lucky girl...”

Opening the door, Bianca paused. “Hey, are you going to Homecoming on Saturday?”

“Uh... no... it's... it's not really my thing.”

“I bet you'd have a good time if you went.”

He couldn't help but smile at the warm look she gave him. However, he still shook his head. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't think I would.”

She shrugged. “Oh well. Those kinds of events tend to be overrated anyway.”

He was about halfway to his house when she yelled, “ _Malcolm!_ ” behind him. He turned around as she jogged up to him.

“Hey, sorry to bother you again. It's just... well... I've been wondering something all afternoon, and I figured you might know.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “Didn't Curtis used to be a lot shorter?”

Malcolm could only stare, his good mood evaporating as memories of the week's events came rushing back into his mind. He shifted uneasily. “Uh... well... that's kind of a long story... maybe some other time...”

To his relief, she didn't press on. “Okay. Fair enough.” She raced back up to her front door, calling out, “It was nice meeting you!”

“Nice meeting you too!” he yelled back, then returned his attention to getting home.

The sun was already starting to set, and he wasn't looking forward to the conversation he needed to have with Mom, no matter how necessary.


	16. If You Give a Dog a Bone

“Mom! I'm home!” Malcolm called out, closing the door behind him and setting his backpack on the floor.

Looking up from her work computer in her office, Mom gave a large smile. “Hey, honey! Did you have fun at Curtis'?”

“No.”

She looked taken aback at both the abruptness and tone of the reply. “Oh... what happened?”

Sighing, he wandered into her office and plopped into the chair set up in the corner, sinking into the cushion. “We had an argument. Things have been kind of tense all week, and it just exploded today.”

She nodded, worry creeping into her eyes. “I was wondering if something was going on. I haven't seen him over here at all this week other than Monday...” She paused for a moment, then asked, “Is it okay to ask what you guys fought about?”

Malcolm shrugged, fiddling with a seam in his shirt. “I have opinions on how he's handling a situation, and he doesn't agree. He just got really ugly about it today.”

“Ugly about it? Did he say something mean to you?”

He bit his lip before nodding slowly. “Yeah... you could say that...” A wave of emotion rolled over him, the warmth left from the Torres household fizzling away, and he glanced away as tears filled his vision.

Mom noticed the reaction and rushed over. “Oh Malcolm, honey, I'm so sorry!” She gave him a hug, and he sank into her embrace, a few sniffles escaping here and there. Pulling away, she shook her head. “I don't know what he said, but don't let it get to you. It's not about you; he's lashing out and using you as a scapegoat. You are a good person, Malcolm, and you're a wonderful friend. I see it all the time with how you act with others. Curtis probably just needs time to process whatever situation it is that he's handling, and then hopefully he'll apologize.”

“Maybe,” Malcolm whispered, and Mom handed him a tissue so he could blow his nose. Once finished, he met her gaze and swallowed. “I... just... I'm worried about him.”

She nodded. “I worry about him too.”

“You do?” The response made him blink at her, and she sighed heavily.

“His mom and I... don't get along. I... disagree with her style of parenting, and I actually confronted her about it last school year. She told me to... well... ' _mind my own business'_ to put it lightly. I didn't get anywhere.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “He's been through so much with his parents' divorce and his dad leaving town, and well… it isn't fair to have a mother who's never home and ignores him all the time. It's not the right way to treat a child.”

“Wow... I didn't know you actually talked to her about it...” He looked off for a moment, mulling over her words. Taking a deep breath, he tried to summon every ounce of courage he possessed. He'd wasted enough time already.

“Hey, Mom... there's something really important I have to tell you.” His stomach twisted as she focused all her attention on him, her attentive expression somehow only furthering his anxiety. Digging his nails into his palm, he started, “So... on Monday—”

‘ _RING! RING!’_

Both of them jumped at the noise. Mom hurried over to her desk phone, shooting him a remorseful glance as she picked up the receiver. He slumped—this was only delaying the inevitable. In an effort to calm himself, he wiped his palms on his pants while Mom frowned and paced around the small office.

A couple minutes later, she hung up and groaned. “I am going to kill my department head.”

His eyebrows rose—it was pretty rare for his mild-mannered mother to become so flustered. “What happened?”

“Oh, it's nothing.” She leaned against her desk, glowering at the floor.

He gestured for her to elaborate when they made eye contact again.

“When you enter the workplace, Malcolm, you are going to find there are some people who try to take advantage of you.” At his silence, she sighed and continued, “My department head keeps assigning us these ridiculous little projects; they're not that hard, but there's a lot of them, and it amounts to busy work. He does this because it's easier to pawn off the jobs onto other people than do them himself, and they just keep coming. Nobody wants to stand up to him—he's our boss and people like to brown-nose—but the projects are distracting us from our own work. It basically amounts to an ‘ _If You Give a Dog a Bone_ ’ situation.”

“A... what?”

Laughing softly, she asked, “You don't remember that book? You used to love it when you were little.”

“No, I remember the book. I'm just not sure what you mean.”

Her brow furrowed as her mental gears set to work. “Well... in the book, the person gives the dog a bone... but then the dog wants water. Then it wants to go outside. Then it wants to play fetch. Anyway, this goes on and on. It doesn't matter what the person does, the dog always wants more. My point is that the department head is like the dog—he'll never be satisfied and will just keep demanding more and more out of us. The only way, at least in my opinion, to put an end to it is to say ‘ _no_ ’ and take the bone away; and this isn't just for business situations—it can apply to anything. It's always good to stand up for yourself. Otherwise, the other person will use you up until you have nothing left to give.” She scowled before her shoulders slumped. “Now, all I have to do is take my own advice and actually file a complaint.”

Malcolm gave her a shaky smile. “Yeah... that seems rough. I hope everything sorts itself out.”

She made a face. “I hope so too.” Straightening, she raised a finger as her eyes lit up. “Hey, sweetie, right before you tell me about Monday, I have a real fast question.”

Malcolm deflated at yet another interruption but nodded to give her permission.

She smiled, dimples forming in her cheeks, and asked, “I know you said Dr. Reeder would give you the paperwork for the symposium next week, but did he say what day? And do you know anything else about it?”

The questions killed any shred of determination he had. He stared into her warm, brown eyes—beaming with pride—and knew there was no way he could destroy her. Like Bianca said earlier, maybe it was selfish— _Of course it's selfish!_ —but he just couldn't do it. He numbly told her he didn't know anything else, wishing that were true for everything going on.

She seemed to accept this, and when she asked him to resume his important piece of information, he fidgeted while his brain continued to scream. “You know... it's nothing. I don't know why I brought it up.”

A brief flicker of worry passed over her face, and she patted his shoulder. “You know you can always talk to me, okay honey? I don't... I don't ever want you to suffer alone. I know you want to be strong, but you don't need to hurt yourself doing it.”

Fighting off another lump in his throat, he hugged her and then headed upstairs to his room, hating himself for his cowardice.

***

His melancholy state only worsened when Dad came home. At the dinner table, he asked Malcolm, “Hey, I heard there was a fight at your school today and somebody got sent to the hospital. Do you know anything about that?”

“A fight!?” Mom cried, tearing her attention away from her soup to stare at Dad in horror. “Is the person in the hospital okay?”

Dipping his spoon in and out of the broth, Malcolm listlessly stirred the liquid. “Yeah... I know a bit about it.” He glanced up at Mom. “The person in the hospital is Joel Scalf, and last anybody heard, he's doing okay.”

Mom breathed a sigh of relief while Dad frowned.

“Hey," he said, "isn't that the kid who pushes Curtis around all the time?” When Malcolm nodded, he gave a short, barking laugh. “Bet he's pretty happy about this, huh?”

“Travis!” Mom shot Dad a warning look, but Malcolm's next comment made both of them stare at him in wide-eyed shock.

“Considering he's the one who sent Joel there... yeah, I'd say he's pretty happy about it.”

Mom’s face took on a dumbfounded expression. “Curtis... did that?”

Meanwhile, Dad looked about ready to crack up. “Your friend Curtis sent somebody to the hospital? Really? Little, tiny Curtis could do that?”

“Apparently.” Malcolm set his spoon in the bowl, watching it sink into the depths while Dad laughed and shook his head.

“Well, that's the surprise of the century. Still, good for him for standing up to that asshole.”

“Travis, you should not be condoning this kind of behavior!” Mom snapped.

He scowled in retaliation. “Laura, come on! The kid got bullied all the time. I say, serves the guy right. Hell, maybe if Malcolm fought back more often the stuff at his old school wouldn't have happ—”

Malcolm didn't hear the rest of the sentence. He didn't think he could have handled it. Not today, not with everything that had occurred. Mom let out a horrified gasp as he left, and his parents’ arguing voices traveled up the stairs to his room, even after he closed the door. As he curled up into a ball on his bed, the only thought going through his mind was— _I wish I were someone else._

***

Getting out of bed on Friday morning took all of Malcolm's willpower. He wanted to stay home, but the rough draft for his English argumentative essay was due, so he dragged himself away from his covers and threw some clothes on.

Pretty soon, he stood in front of his locker, spinning his combination dial to get to his books. He opened the door, but a hand slammed it shut. It grabbed him by the collar and spun him around.

Glaring daggers, Courtney Scalf was almost scarlet from fury. “All right, fatso, tell me what the fuck is going on with your freaky friend?”

“I—what?”

She yanked him upward, and he let out a yelp while she snarled, “You listen up, okay? Go tell that asshole that as soon as Joel is better, he's going to fucking kill him. Do you hear me!? Your friend is fucking dead!” She then shoved him hard against the door and stomped off.

Malcolm, still stuck in place, gave an owlish stare in the direction she left. _Holy cow._

Thankfully, nobody else seemed quite as invested in Joel's health as Courtney, and he spent the next few periods unperturbed. However, as third period ended, another figure showed up at his locker, albeit for a different purpose.

“Do you know where Curtis is? I'd like to talk to him,” a timid voice asked, and Malcolm turned to face a woebegone Krystal.

 _All right, is anybody actually here for me?_ On the outside, though, he managed a sheepish smile. “He's suspended, so I assume he's home.”

“Suspended!?” Her face fell, and he couldn't help but pity her.

“Yeah, it's a bummer.”

“' _A bummer!?_ ' This is awful!” she cried out. “I was hoping to try and reach a compromise about Homecoming, but now it looks like that isn't going to happen.” She wiped her nose and sniffled, casting him an accusatory look. “He was canceling on me because he made plans with _you,_ apparently.”

While Curtis had probably used him as an excuse, a small swell of happiness still bubbled up that the guy had remembered him and prioritized their plans, even if it was at Krystal's expense. He apologized to her, and she left looking rather morose while he ran the information over in his head again and again, that small stab of joy persistent in its appearances.

The good feeling faded at lunchtime when he had to sit alone. On the one hand, it was kind of nice not having to watch Curtis devour several meals’ worth of food, but on the other...

Some students laughed and talked at a nearby table, and he forced himself to focus on his sloppy joe instead. Good old sloppy joe...

***

The all-school assembly at the end of the day was about what one would expect. The cheerleaders gave a sneak peek to their half-time routine, STUCO did some skits, the principal talked about safety... basically, the same thing as last year. When it finally ended, Malcolm joined the throng of students heading for the exit and stepped into the mild October breeze.

He pulled out his phone, then went to his Contacts list and pulled up “ _Curtis Henderson._ ” His finger hovered over the green “ _Call_ ” icon. Maybe it was too soon to try—Malcolm had never seen the guy get as explosive as yesterday, and there was a good possibility that he needed more time to cool off. But just sitting around felt horrible too.

To heck with it. Pushing the button, he then held the phone to his ear, waiting through the ringing sound.

He was disappointed, but not surprised, when it went to voicemail. He waited through the automated message, taking a deep breath to ready himself, and then launched into his speech after the beep: “Hey, Curtis. It's me, Malcolm. You probably don't want to talk to me, or maybe you're busy, or... I don't know. I'm not trying to bother you or anything, I know you said you need space. I... uh... well, I talked to Krystal today, and she said you canceled on her for me, and well... I guess I just wanted to say that it really means a lot to me that you remembered our plans. I'm sorry for how I've been acting all week, but I appreciate you doing that for me. If you're up for it, I'd love to hang out with you on Saturday. I miss us just playing video games and watching anime. And again, I am sorry for the stuff I said yesterday. I'm probably just overreacting; you know how I can be. So, if you need more time, that's cool... if not, you know where to find me. Talk to you later. Bye.”

He hung up, sighing. He wasn't sure if he meant all of it—telling Curtis to see a doctor didn’t seem like an overreaction at all, but playing it safe was probably the best way to reach the guy at this point.

When his house came into view, Malcolm trudged past the unbloomed gladioli and unlocked the door, pushing it open to Cooper barking from his crate. After releasing the animal, he picked him up and cuddled with him on the couch. Cooper struggled at first but eventually relaxed into his embrace.

Around half an hour later, Mom came home and gave a soft smile when she saw him with the dog. “Aw, did you have a rough day?”

“Eh, more of a rough week.” He buried his head in Cooper's coat, and the terrier shifted at the touch.

“Do you want to go take Cooper for a walk?”

He nodded without removing his head from the fur, and Mom's footsteps receded before coming back again.

She put a leash on the little Westie and then helped Malcolm to his feet, brushing off his shoulders once he was standing. “There. All better.”

They exited the house into the afternoon sunshine, with Cooper prancing around, eager to experience all the sights and scents of the world. As they walked along, Malcolm didn't say much, too preoccupied with his own thoughts. Mom didn't interrupt his internal musings, and they continued on in silence—broken only by her occasional hum of a tune—until they came upon a particular backyard.

The plot of land didn't look all that different from the other backyards in the area, but as soon as they drew near, Cooper whined and cowered behind their legs, reluctant to walk forward any farther.

“What's wrong with him?” he scowled, and Mom sighed in response.

“He's probably scared of the mastiff that lives at this house.”

He frowned. “Okay, but the mastiff isn't outside right now.”

“Yeah, but he can probably smell it. Dogs have a much better sense of smell than humans; Cooper knows that this is the big dog's territory, and he's scared of trespassing.”

The explanation made sense, so Malcolm reluctantly led the little terrier back home with Mom by his side. Along the way, Cooper stopped every once in a while to sniff the ground, reminding him of his AP Bio project. Even if it wasn't how people communicated, smell was so important for so many animals—Cooper reveled in a world of information Malcolm could never be privy to, no matter how hard he tried.

When they finally entered the house, he excused himself to his room, to which Mom responded with a nod and a pat on the back. Armed with her unspoken blessing, he headed upstairs, where he got out the stuff—notebook, pencils, laptop—he would need to make any headway.

He started where he left off last time with the reptile ‘pheromone.’ It was interesting enough—describing the mechanism of a toxin blocking skeletal muscle receptors—but not well studied and not that common, apparently. He then moved on to an article about cat urine that specified how rats and other rodents could smell the predator through its marking behavior. _That's convenient_.

He browsed through several other articles on hormones and pheromones before coming across one on humans. He clicked the link and scanned the document. It detailed the role of smell in human courtship, with the author referencing an experiment in which individuals had to rate a person's attractiveness based on nothing but the scent of their clothes. Then the same individuals were given photos of the clothes' owners and were again told to rate their appeal. The scientists found that the more pleasing the scent, the higher the person tended to be rated in terms of looks. With the new information, the Discussion section hypothesized that smell was far more vital to human interaction than previously believed.

This led him to a brief article on the role of kissing in determining pheromones and immune properties. It referenced a theory claiming that both the skin contact and saliva exchange allowed the participants to determine mate compatibility.

He just snorted and jotted down a few key points from it.

Pausing, Malcolm glanced over all his notes and yawned. He had a pretty good list of sources going at this point, and he hadn't slept well all week—perhaps a nap was in order. He changed out of his jeans into pajama pants and crawled into bed, falling asleep almost immediately after shutting his eyes.

***

_He wandered through the school corridors, posters for Homecoming littering the floor. Voices caught his attention, and he followed the source to a nearby bathroom. Pushing open the door, he then walked inside to Curtis—just as he had looked earlier on Thursday—and Adam passionately kissing one another. A small part of him questioned as to why something like this would be occurring, but another part of him just stared on in slack-jawed amazement._

_Curtis noticed him and broke away, grinning. “Looks like we have an audience."_

_Adam glanced at Malcolm and wrinkled his nose. “What does he want?”_

_Curtis nibbled his ear. “He probably wants to join us.”_

_“Why would we let him do that?” he asked, pulling Curtis closer to him and reaching under his shirt to stroke his torso._

_“Well...” Curtis once again turned to Malcolm, a devious grin unfurling on his face. “I'll let you join us if you buy me a sandwich.”_

_That was all Malcolm needed to hear. He ran out of the bathroom, desperately searching for a deli restaurant. Soon, he wandered around the military lab, trying to wade through knee-high puddles of light pink formula that impeded his every move. To make matters worse, Dr. Reeder kept showing up and asking him to describe osmolarity and gas exchange._

_“How does air get into the lungs, Malcolm?” the old man would question, and his urge to tear his own hair out grew even stronger._

_“I don't care! Just let me find a sandwich!”_

_He finally acquired the item, hurrying as quickly as he could to the bathroom. He opened the door but stopped dead in his tracks. The two boys were no longer making out. Instead, Adam lay lifeless on the floor, his organs spilling out around him while Curtis feasted on his flesh._

_The guy glanced up at Malcolm, flashing a bloody grin. “Sorry about this, Malcolm. I was just so hungry, and I got kind of tired of waiting.” The grin grew wider. “But looks like I got quite a bit to choose from now.”_

_He lunged forward as Malcolm raised his arms in horror, preparing for the impending teeth to sink into—_

“Malcolm! Dinner!”

Malcolm jerked awake at the announcement, breathing heavily. He sat up and stared around his room, everything still where he'd last left it. Rubbing his eyes, he grimaced and swung his legs over the side of the bed. No more AP Bio right before sleeping.


	17. Bet You Twenty Bucks

Tapping the pencil on the table kept Chelsea focused. Not too loud, just right. It was something to concentrate on, to be able to make it through meetings like this. Her medication helped too, but she found the ‘ _tap-tap-tap’_ soothing.

At the front of the room, Ms. Laurel flipped through a stack of papers. “All right, so everybody knows what they're going to be doing tomorrow at the game and dance?”

A murmur of agreement went up around the table, and Chelsea couldn't help but grimace at some of the less than enthused tones. Yeah, it was Friday afternoon and people wanted to go hang out with friends or have pre-Homecoming parties or whatever, but this was important too. Why sign up for Yearbook if they were going to be so reluctant about putting in the work?

Nodding, Ms. Laurel then glanced around. “Sounds good. What has everybody accomplished this week? Kyle, you first.”

A small smile formed on Chelsea's lips as the slacker sweated.

“Well... uh... I asked people about their opinions on the events and stuff...” He tossed out some sheets of paper with vague interviews, and Ms. Laurel rolled her eyes.

“I suppose that will have to do.” She turned to a mousy, freckled girl. “Denise, do you have your photos from the week?”

The girl jumped and pulled out her computer. “I do. They're right here.” She opened up a folder titled “ _Homecoming Week 2017_ ” and began a slideshow for the Yearbook staff.

The images flashed in front of Chelsea's critical eye when she noticed something. Frowning, she made a gesture for Denise to stop. “These are the pictures from the dress-up day, correct?”

Denise nodded hurriedly, and Chelsea's brow furrowed.

“You have several pictures of one student, and he's not even wearing a costume.”

“Yes, he is,” a guy shot back.

This made both Chelsea and Ms. Laurel blink, and Chelsea leaned in to get a better look. From what she could tell, he just appeared to be a guy—a very large guy, but still a guy—wearing regular clothes. _Damn, he could give some of the football players a run for their money in terms of size. Wonder if he's the same creep Bianca texted me about earlier?_

Denise cleared her throat. “Some people were saying it was a costume, so I figured I should probably get some photos. You know, just in case, because everybody was talking about it.”

“Wait a second,” Chelsea snapped. “You're going to try and include _rumors_ in the Yearbook? We can't do that.”

Denise deflated at her words when another boy spoke up: “I mean, technically we can put one picture in. The Yearbook is supposed to be a reminder of the memorable things that happened throughout the year.” He paused and nodded at the images. “If he caused a bunch of rumors, then I'd say people thought he was pretty memorable.”

Pursing her lips, Chelsea mentally ground her teeth as Ms. Laurel considered Elijah's objection. _Asshole_. _Why do you always have to argue with me about stuff?_

“How about...” Chelsea murmured, “you actually go and ask the guy for permission. I get that it's hard for group photos at events, but for an individual one, you should be able to figure out if he's okay with you using his picture. Keep the photos for now, and we'll decide later after we hear his response.”

The rest of the staff seemed to like this option, with everyone looking at each other and giving thumbs-ups. Doubtful they actually cared; they probably just wanted to leave to go have fun.

After wrapping up a couple other issues, the meeting adjourned and Chelsea strode out to her sedan. Elijah raced after her, and she shot him a glare.

“Not right now. Let me stew for a bit,” she snapped.

His eyes widened behind his glasses before he nodded, while she pivoted away to continue her journey.

Soon, she was cruising along in a scenic suburban neighborhood. She pulled into a driveway, then hopped out of the car once parked, grabbing her backpack and purse.

Upon entering the two-story house, she made her way upstairs to her room, where she grabbed her contact lens solution and case. Peering into her mirror, she carefully removed the objects from her eyes before soaking them, unfolding a pair of purple glasses when she finished. She smiled as the world smoothed out its fuzzy edges once more.

Collapsing onto her bed, she went over her options for how to spend the rest of her Friday. Her parents were still at work, so she wouldn't be bothered for at least another couple hours. She could always head down to Main Street or text people, but then again, it had been a draining day and she didn't really feel like going out—plus, she had quite a bit of _Black Mirror_ to watch.

Time passed, and her parents' voices wafted up from downstairs. They called out a greeting, and she responded briefly before returning her attention to her laptop. Several minutes later, Dad's voice came again. Pausing the video, she then left her room to find out what he wanted.

As soon as she reached the top of the stairs, she laughed and shook her head. Elijah—his brown, curly hair even more of a disaster than usual—grinned sheepishly at the bottom of the steps, a container of Oreos held in his outstretched hands.

“Peace offering?” he teased.

“Yeah, come on up.”

He hurried toward her, and she smiled at him.

“You didn't need to get me anything. I would have gotten over it on my own.”

He grinned back at her. “Yeah, I know. But I also know that you'll share.” He handed her the carton of cookies, and they made their way into her room, where Elijah took a seat on the large bean bag chair next to her bed.

Settling onto the bed, Chelsea opened the package and offered him an Oreo before taking one for herself. “Thank you for getting them.”

“Thank Toby. They were his idea.” A sly smile formed on his face. “He always seems to know how to deal with irrational individuals.”

Chelsea opened her mouth in mock offense. “Well, just for that, you don’t get your wallet back!”

She had to suppress a laugh as Elijah sat up, patting his pockets. A scowl overtook his features before he shook his head, chuckling softly. “Goddamn, you always get me. You would think I would freaking learn by now.”

Laughing as well, she tossed the object back to him. “Gotta practice without my brothers here, and you’re an easy target.”

He rolled his eyes and reclined backward, then frowned as he pulled out an admissions pamphlet from underneath him. “Oh, doing college stuff?”

Chelsea hurried over to grab the papers but found him unwilling to part with them. They played a quick game of keep-away—Chelsea nearly falling over in her eagerness—before Elijah finally relented. Now armed with the pamphlets, she made a face at him, and he blew a raspberry back.

“Fine, I guess I deserved that,” she laughed. Grabbing another cookie from the carton, she said, “To answer your question; yeah. Just looking at scholarship requirements and whatnot. Thankfully, I qualify for a lot of things, being National Merit and all.” She stuffed the cookie into her mouth and munched quickly, swallowing. “Did you know Zach is still pissed that I beat his PSAT score?”

“What a sore loser.”

“No kidding.” She grinned before setting the packet on top of her desk, then returned to her bed. “Now all I have to do when I actually do pick a place is just make sure I become a Goldwater Scholar. I'll never live it down if Michael becomes one and I don't.”

Elijah snorted. “Just because Michael does something, doesn't mean you have to do it too. You are perfectly good on your own merits.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he rolled his eyes again. After devouring another cookie, she wiped her mouth. “Off-topic from college, but since it’s relevant to the Oreos… you actually think we should include pictures of that huge kid in the Yearbook?”

Frowning, Elijah shook his head. “All right, first of all, I said _picture_ , not pictures. Second of all, I'm not entirely sure; I just don't know if we should immediately rule it out. If that is a costume—which I'm like you and don't know if it is—then he should definitely be in there. However, I liked your idea of getting permission.”

Chelsea furrowed her brow. “Well, I don't even think it should be considered. Nobody actually knows if that's a costume or not, so I don't want to accidentally make fun of this guy and have it be immortalized forever. Even going with my suggestion, that's a really awkward question to ask someone—' _Hey, is that your body or a costume? I can't tell.'_ ” She looked off for a moment. “And personally, it didn't look at all like a costume to me. I don't even know how it got started that he was wearing one.”

“So you didn't hear any of the other rumors?”

When she turned her head, Elijah wore a quizzical expression. She frowned. “I heard vague things here and there, but I was mostly focused on studying for my AP Physics test yesterday. So I guess not.”

A smug smile formed on his face. “Well, as part of my evil Jewish Illuminati duties, it is my responsibility to know everyone's business in Wesley High. Therefore, I will share some of my carefully collected info.”

Giggling at his bombastic introduction, Chelsea focused her full attention on him as he launched into his gossip.

“So, because I love drama and all things scandalous, as soon as I heard the first few whispers, I knew I had to figure out what was making everybody all aflutter. Some people were talking about him being a new student—kind of doubtful this late in the year—yet they had a point that a babe like that would be pretty hard to miss; and nobody remembers seeing him before. So, the question becomes, how did he slip in under all of our noses?”

He paused for dramatic effect, and she scowled, “Will you get on with it already?” to which he shot her a disdainful look.

“You don't understand anything about timing. _Sad_. Anyway, as I was saying, I asked a few more people and managed to acquire a name—Curtis Henderson.”

“Huh.” Chelsea stared down at her fingers, idly playing with her bracelet. “I don't recognize that name.”

“Apparently, not a lot of people do; he kept mostly to himself. But the really weird thing is that this kid was supposedly _super_ short before this week. Like, he just grew like a weed and turned into that tall drink of water basically overnight.”

She made a face. “That's physically impossible. I think you're just making shit up at this point.”

“No, I'll prove it!” her cried out and hopped off the bean bag chair. Hurrying over to her bookshelf, he then pulled out her Yearbook from junior year. “Let's take a peek, shall we?”

He brought it over to her bed, and they flipped through the pages before they found what they were looking for. On page 297—around ten people after “ _Chelsea Gwozdek_ ”—was a picture of a brown-haired boy staring into the camera with a bored expression. While only his head and shoulders were visible, he did look slender; certainly not the meathead she'd seen in Denise's photos. In fact, he seemed rather unremarkable altogether—he wasn't ugly by any means, but he wasn't radiantly handsome either.

Glancing back up at Elijah, she paused to run a hand through her hair as she collected her thoughts, noting the contrast between the brown and purple strands as they fell back into place. “I guess he does look different than in the pictures we saw today, but this doesn't show how tall he was. For all you know, this was a gradual growth spurt and everybody was just oblivious before now.”

Now it was Elijah's turn to make a face. “You really believe that we just missed this guy for a few months and only _now_ noticed. No way. Nuh uh. Not possible.”

Groaning, Chelsea sat back on her heels. “Well, I don't have any other explanations! I refuse to believe your 'sudden growth' hypothesis because it just doesn't make any sense! Nobody becomes like a 6'6 giant overnight.”

Elijah cocked his head, grabbing another cookie and taking a bite. “What if... it's somebody else?”

“Huh?”

“What if he hired, like, a body double or something? You know, found a guy that looked like him and paid him to go to school?”

Chelsea couldn't have rolled her eyes harder if she had tried. “How is that explanation any better? Why would he do that? What would be the point besides making people talk? And what about the fight?”

Her outburst made him raise his hands defensively. “Whoooooooaaaaaa... hold on. Just hear me out, okay?” He finished off his cookie and then cleared his throat. “I also have been hearing rumors that Peter Dodson is going to pull off a prank of some kind tomorrow. You know, follow in Tony Quigley's footsteps.”

Chelsea rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Tony Quigley's prank wasn't that great in the first place! I don't know why people won't shut up about it.”

Elijah shot her an ugly look. “All right, you're entitled to your wrong opinion. But anyway, what if this is somehow related? What if Peter got Curtis in on his prank, and part of it is making us think he grew or some shit? The fight could have been staged as well. I realize it's pretty elaborate, but hell...” His face split into a grin, and he gave Chelsea a knowing glance. “I bet you twenty bucks that this Curtis guy is going to do some shit tomorrow—some kind of prank or practical joke or something.”

“Twenty bucks?”

At her unimpressed face, Elijah grinned wider. “You want to go higher?”

“Nah, twenty is good. You're on.”


	18. In the Immortal Words of Nicki Minaj

Every time he had it sated, it came back, slowly spreading through his stomach in both a painful and disquieting sensation. He got tired of chewing, but every period he spent without eating made his gut scream for nourishment, forcing him to grab something else. It was quickly becoming one of the worst Thursdays of Curtis' life.

It didn't help that he remained in a foul mood after his tirade at Malcolm. Irritation still pricked at him every time he thought of the earlier nagging, but something else also reared its ugly head—guilt and self-loathing. He hadn't wanted to make him cry like that, and now the emotions lay stagnant inside of him like dead weight, only making his incessant hunger all the more unbearable.

In a shorter amount of time than he hoped, Curtis had depleted the food he'd bought during the week. Still ravenous, he turned the apartment upside down in search of something edible and was almost brought to tears after he began spooning the fridge top premium flour into his mouth. It wasn't enough, but that was it. He didn't have any money for groceries.

His desperation finally yielded some results after searching the couch cushions, where he found a small, brown wallet. As he stared at the object, his conscience and stomach warred over what to do—he could either suffer or use Mom's credit cards to buy some food.

Another pang of hunger, so powerful that he nearly doubled over, sealed his decision—to hell with it. He would gladly take Mom's wrath any day over this. Throwing on a far too small jacket and stepping into the stairwell, Curtis stopped to lean against the banister as a wave of dizziness washed over him—he wasn't used to his new center of gravity. Shaking his head, he resumed hurrying over to the nearby supermarket.

While he ran along the sidewalk, gratitude welled up that the sun had already set, leaving him somewhat disguised by the darkness. He hadn't bothered to check how he looked before he left, but the shirt constricted him painfully, and he had barely been able to even put the jacket on. He probably looked utterly ridiculous.

Upon arriving, he got a cart and immediately began grabbing everything in sight, oblivious to cost or product. He had practically cleared out the meat section when his cart decided it wasn’t going to hold any more, so he ran back and grabbed another one to continue his frenzied shopping.

Once he finished, he brought up the two overflowing shopping carts to the check-out, where the cashier stood with a bug-eyed stare on her face. Curtis started placing items on the conveyor belt, and she still didn't move, apparently too astonished at the hulking figure in front of her.

Her inactivity began to aggravate him, and he glowered at her. “So, are you going to ring me up or not?”

The question made her spring into action. After more minutes than he would have liked, she finally finished scanning everything. “All right,” she breathed, “that will be $1,246.47.”

Holy shit. His stomach sank into his feet. Did Mom even have that much in credit?

After he swiped the first card, she cleared her throat. “So... you throwing a party or something?”

Curtis cast her a withering glare. “Yeah, it's called an _'I Am Going to Eat All this Fucking Food’_ Party. Now keep your stupid questions to yourself.”

Her eyes went wide at his retort, but she thankfully didn't make any more comments.

When he left, he just took the shopping carts home with him. There was no way he would be able to carry everything without them, and once he arrived at the apartment, it took him multiple trips to get the food inside.

As soon as he was done, he preheated the oven and turned on the stovetop burners, then tore into a few bags of non-perishables before chugging a gallon of milk. He alternated between cooking and trying to achieve satiation. Pretty soon, he just sat on the floor—occasionally putting away some of the refrigerated and frozen food—while furiously scratching his hands.

With the night wearing on, he kept eating until his jaw grew so sore he wasn't sure he could open it anymore. His eyelids drooped, and eventually he passed out right where he sat, surrounded by trash.

***

**_He hoisted himself up on the fence. Looking down, he stared at the grassy expanse—the ground wasn't that far below..._ **

_Grandma smiled at him. “Now roll the dough nice and thin.”_

_He followed her motions, grinning as she congratulated him on what a good job he was doing..._

_**He landed, somewhat unsteady as he rose...**_

_“Grandma, can I have a cookie?”_

_She tapped her finger on her chin. “Hmm... your mother told me not to... but then again, what she doesn't know won't hurt her.”_

_She winked at him, and he clapped his hands together as she handed him an oatmeal raisin cookie, his favorite..._

_**He had made it into the yard. He scanned the area for the object. It had to be around somewhere...**_

_Her lined face radiated joy at his cries of delight._

_“Thank you, Grandma! I love it!”_ _He clutched the hat to his chest while she laughed and pointed to the design on the front. “_

_Do you see that flag there, Curtis? Do you know what country it's for?”_

_He followed her finger and shook his head._

_“It's the flag for Italy. Where my parents, your great-grandparents, are from.”_

_As he stared up at her in amazement, she leaned closer.“_

_That's why my pasta is so good," she whispered. "It's in our blood...”_

_**There! He could see it—the white hat with the tri-colored flag. It was by the dogwood...**_

_“My little dinosaur, please don't cry,” she murmured as she dabbed the tears off his face._

_He sniffled, trying his hardest to be brave as her eyes clouded over with sadness._

_“Don't listen to those awful kids. You are wonderful.” She wrapped her arms around him, and he rested his head on her shoulder..._

_**He started to walk over, closing the gap between him and the hat...**_

_He buried his face in his hands, sobbing as Dad screamed, “Why couldn't you keep your fucking mouth shut!”_

_“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say anything!”_

_Dad's face was a mask of anger, and Curtis wished he would stop yelling. He hadn't meant to mention the special lady friend to Mom. It had just slipped out..._

_**The vicious growl made him freeze in his tracks as an enormous German Shepherd came into view...**_

_“You never help out with anything! All you do is watch the goddamn TV all day!”_

_“At least I can keep a fucking job. Remind me again who pays the bills around this place?”_

_“And you do a shit job of it! The kid needs new shoes, and all you do is spend money on your fucking whore!”_

_“Oh, don't pretend you give a rat's ass about him when all you do is dump him off at your mom's all the time. You ever think there's a reason he likes her so much better than you?”_

_Curtis squeezed his eyes shut, pulling the covers over his head as Mom screamed, “Like you're one to talk! You missed his birthday last year because you went out drinking with your buddies!”_

_“I needed a fucking break from this hellhole, Trisha!”_

_The covers weren't helping..._

_**His breath caught in his throat. The animal bared its teeth, hackles raised...**_

_Curtis walked over to Mom, brow furrowed. “I thought Grandma was picking me up from school?”_

_She glanced down at the floor uncomfortably. “Curtis... there's something I need to tell you...”_

_**He was so close to the hat. So close... but the dog. It barked, those sharp teeth still on full display. If he ran... he could get it and make it over the fence...**_

_He sat on his bed, still in his dress clothes, clutching the stuffed T-Rex to his chest as tears rolled down his face. Why? She had promised to take him to the movies for his birthday. A big boy movie since he was turning nine. But now they weren't going to the movies together ever again..._

_**He broke into a sprint, heart pounding as the animal let out a guttural bark...**_

_“Curtis, tell me what 4x3 equals?” his teacher asked._

_He started to sweat. He'd worked on the multiplication tables for so long yesterday, yet he still didn't feel confident. 4x2 was 8. So now that meant... he had to add another 4... right? So... 8, 9, 10, 11..._

_“Curtis, you should have answered by now. Why aren't you doing the work I assigned?”_

_He swallowed a lump in his throat. He HAD worked on them, he had tried so hard..._

_**The ground rushed up to meet him as the dog bowled him over...**_

_He held the washcloth up to his black eye, letting out a hiss at the stinging pain. All of this just for talking back to those assholes on the way home from school..._

_**Blood. There was so much blood. An awful sound ripped through the air, and it took him a moment to realize he was screaming...**_

_It didn't feel like how he imagined it would, but her lips were soft and butterflies catapulted around his stomach at the sensation. His first kiss! And she was so pretty; he couldn't believe somebody like Lindsay would have ever noticed him._

_He was still grinning when he saw her in the hallway later. He started to run after her when he noticed some girls handing her money._

_“Can't believe you went through with it, ew,” one girl muttered._

_Lindsay smirked. “Hey, don't make bets if you're going to be such a bitch about it.”_

_Another girl laughed. “Still, you had to kiss Curtis! That's so gross!”_

_He sped off in the other direction before he could hear any more, trying to ignore the swell of tears threatening to break free..._

_**The animal savagely shook its head, further tearing into his stomach...**_

_It had been bound to happen sooner or later. He'd even hoped for it sometimes, but now that they were actually going through with it..._

_He stared at the divorce papers on the table, wishing they were just a bad dream..._

_**The world spun, growing blurry. A woman’s hysterical cries sounded faintly from several feet away...**_

_“Hey... so would you want to come over after school sometime?”_

_The question caught him off guard, and he turned to face a hopeful smile. He shrugged internally. The guy seemed nice enough; plus, he was new. That had to suck._

_“Yeah, that sounds cool.” He almost laughed at the look of delight that appeared on Malcolm's face..._

_**“Frank, call 911!”**_

**_Every breath hurt, but there was also pressure pushing down on his abdomen._ **

**_“Helen, what the hell are you yelling about?”_ **

**_“There's a kid here, Frank! Bruce attacked a kid! He's bleeding so much... oh God, there's so much blood, Frank...”_ **

**_“What!? What are you—Jesus fucking Christ! I'm calling right now!”_ **

**_Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision..._ **

_“Curtis, if you leave the toilet seat up one more goddamn time, I am going to smash all your fucking video game systems!”_

_He glared at Mom's enraged form. Was that really freaking worth barging into his room at three A.M..._

_**He drifted in and out of consciousness, a slight beeping off to his side. He managed to crack open his eyes to Mom sobbing into Dad's arms by the foot of his bed.**_

**_Dad looked stricken while Mom wailed, “The nurse said there's a chance he might not make it. And... David... I saw him when they first brought him in... oh God... his... his… I can’t...”_ **

**_Curtis wasn't processing any of her words. All he could feel besides pain was a small surge of happiness. They weren't fighting..._ **

_He kept replaying the scene over and over, slowly running his tongue along the cut on his lip. The action stung, but if he concentrated hard, he could almost make out the taste of the other boy's mouth—_

_**Cut that out!** _

_He scowled and rolled over, pulling the comforter up higher. He still couldn't help but wonder—what if Malcolm was having the same thoughts..._

_**“Hey, how's my little champ?”**_

**_He blinked up at Dad's grinning face. Mom also hovered nearby, looking close to tears._ **

**_“Why are you holding balloons?” he croaked, giving a befuddled glance at the colored orbs floating above them. Why was Mom crying now? He had just asked a question..._ **

_He grinned as he flexed in the mirror. Goddamn, that formula was fucking amazing! He'd never dreamed in a million years he'd look this good. He pulled on his shirt, still smirking at the outline of his new musculature. Man, if Malcolm had looked hot and bothered last night, wait until he got a load of him today..._

_**He ran his fingers over the knotted flesh. They weren't ever going to go away. He was lucky to be sitting here, but still... they were so ugly...**_

***

Curtis let out a labored breath, the remnants of bad dreams fleeing as he awoke. A stab of pain shot through his lower back, and—for a horrifying second—he imagined it was the German Shepherd. However, he quickly shook that thought from his head. No... he was in his kitchen... wait... why was he in the kitchen?

He sat up, several seams giving out as his shirt squeezed him like a vice, and took in his disgusting surroundings. It looked like a tornado had blown through the room. He cringed, his temples throbbing and his neck sore from the odd angle in which he'd slept. Trying to reach equilibrium, he rubbed his face, then stopped at his hand’s strange texture. What the—

He stared in horror at the appendage—that sure wasn't a fucking speck anymore. A hard, black substance—the surface a repeating pattern of strange angular outlines—covered his hands and fingers. The tips of his digits were cruel, curved points, with a base far thicker than any nail ought to have been. Glancing over, he found that his other hand didn't look any better. The things felt like they had been encased in firm gloves and, quite frankly, looked downright _demonic._

Fighting off a wave of nausea, Curtis scanned the room, searching for a sharp object. He tried to get up, but his feet weren't cooperating. He collapsed back to the floor, jolts of pain shooting through his legs from his ill-fitting shoes. When he tried again, he managed to hobble over to a drawer—despite the disconcerting closeness of the ceiling—and pull out a knife.

He held the object up with shaking hands while his stomach screamed at him for sustenance. Gritting his teeth, he bore the pain. He needed to get this shit off. However, the agony in his feet reared up once more, making him sit down again. Redirecting his attention, he carefully cut the shoes off.

The knife clattered to the floor as he bit his lip to stop the horrified shriek from leaving. The same black substance covered the entirety of his feet, but... oh fucking Jesus... that wasn't all. No wonder his shoes had been hurting so fucking bad. They hadn't been designed for the _abominations_ that sat in front of him.

His bones had completely reformed, leaving him with triangular extremities. Curtis' first four toes were thick and long with the same cruel, curved points as his fingers, while his fifth had somehow migrated to the back. He found that when he placed his feet on the ground, his heels didn't even make contact, only his larger than normal toes.

 _It looks like a fucking dinosaur foot_ _!_

He started to hyperventilate as the room spun. Where was his phone? He had no idea; he couldn't remember where he had put it. He needed a doctor, Malcolm was right, oh God...

The familiar itch crept back into his hand, and he glanced down. His eyes widened as some of the neighboring skin, almost imperceptibly but not quite, darkened and hardened. Fuck, it was spreading! He was wasting all this time being terrified when he should have been doing something!

Clutching the knife once more, Curtis raised it to the edge of the black substance. For a moment, his hand shook, but he steeled himself—he just had to cut it off, not that big a deal. He pressed the blade into the stuff and screeched as white-hot pain seared through him. Shuddering, he ignored the tears streaming down his face and continued the action, blood gushing out of the wound.

The searing sensation proved too much, and he dropped the knife a few seconds later, crying as he clutched his ruined hand to his chest. Who was he kidding? He was just maiming himself.

The pain eased, and he returned his attention to the appendage. His mouth hung open at the sight. Where he had sliced it, the exposed viscera _knitted_ itself together and returned to the hard, black status it had held before his mutilation. Soon, it didn't look any different from the surrounding area, and he could only look on in dumbfounded shock.

What. The. Fuck. It was official now; he was fucking crazy.

All of that was pushed to the wayside as a hunger pang tore through him, the pain far worse than anything previous. Its intensity forced Curtis to continue his frenzied eating splurge from the night before while the sane part of his brain cried out that he needed to find his phone and get medical help, but oh God it hurt so fucking bad, he couldn't stop to look for it now, he just wanted this to end.

He shoved several cuts of beef in the oven, trying to cook them as fast as possible, then biting into them as soon as they could feasibly be called rare. When they were gone, he continued the process, never able to quiet the insatiable hunger inside of him. But he was trying... God knows he was trying...

 _This is taking too long._ He gazed in misery at the oven. Why in the world had he bought so much meat? It was what he craved, but it took so much fucking time, and he was almost out of non-perishables.

Curtis sat around for a while, fidgeting in his discomfort, before a fit of desperation seized him. Ripping the undercooked beef out of the appliance, he sank his teeth into it, almost choking in his haste. The heat scorched his tongue, but he continued devouring it and then grabbed another package from the fridge, tearing into that with just as much gusto. He didn't care about cooked quality anymore; he was past that point.

‘ _Crunch!’_

He froze at the noise, slowly holding the meat away from his face to find... a tooth.

Curtis' own fucking tooth stared him right in the face, more menacing than any threat he'd ever received in his life. _What the fuck is happening to me!?_

He sobbed while he ate, flinching as he lost another incisor. He was going to die. There was no question about it now. This was it.

For how long it continued, he didn't know. They just kept falling out, one by one, yet somehow he could still eat. When he reached a finger into his mouth to investigate, he let out a hiss of pain and yanked it out. There were new teeth where his old ones had been, and they were fucking sharp! At this, a part of him reasoned that this was a small ray of hope if his body replaced his missing parts, but it was only a flicker—and his misery was quite a bit more prominent.

While it had only been a stab when he first awoke, a dull throbbing pain continued to pulse at the base of his spine, and it only grew worse as the day went on. Eventually, he began to breathe deeply. He fell forward, onto his hands, in an attempt to alleviate it, but it did fucking nothing. Each pulse only raged stronger and stronger, and Curtis—though he had never considered himself religious in the slightest—found himself praying to any deity out there— _Please just let me die, let this end please._

Gouging the floor with his claw-like fingers, he gasped for air, shaking as the stabs occurred closer and closer to one another. _This is when I die_. With eyes squeezed shut, tears oozed out from behind the lids.

 ** _Pulse_**.

He gripped the floor tighter.

 ** _Pulse_**.

A shudder tore through him.

 ** _Pulse_**.

The pain continued to mount until it reached a cataclysmic crescendo, Curtis too ravaged to even scream. Just when he became positive his spine would break, it ended. Just like that, the pain ended

He blinked, still panting and shaking, but he was _alive_ and the awful stabbing had gone. He shifted and, upon a strange sensation from his shorts, reached behind him, eyes widening as his hand made contact with a protrusion from his spine. He ran his fingers over it, noting the same hard substance covered it.

Strangely, he didn't feel all that freaked out by this development. He was too happy at the pain being gone to care. He mentally shrugged and cut a hole in the back of his shorts to relieve the discomfort. Now, back to eating. Even though this agony might have ended, the hunger sure hadn't.

He lost track of time after a while, too consumed by the act of consuming. He probably would have stayed that way were it not for the front door slamming open.

“Curtis Henderson!” Mom screeched, storming straight toward his room without even bothering to glance in his actual direction. “ _You fucking brat, get out right now!_ ” She pounded on his door, red-faced, and upon hearing no answer, yelled out, “I checked my statements! Over a thousand dollars’ worth of purchases! What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

“I'm over here, Mom,” he murmured, and her furious form whirled around to face him. Still munching on a bloody hunk of pork, Curtis couldn't help but grin as her hands flew to her mouth and her eyes went round as saucers.

“C-Curtis...” she stammered, the color draining from her already pale face.

He didn't respond; he didn't particularly care what punishment or words she had to inflict. All he cared about was the bottomless chasm of hunger within him.

“What's going on? Talk to me. What happened to you? Is that... why are you eating _that_?” She warily crept closer to the kitchen, eyes raking over the piles of trash and meat juice that littered the floor.

Curtis just kept ignoring her.

Her voice breaking slightly, she whispered, “Baby, please talk to me. What happened to you? I'll call a doctor, I'll get you some help...”

 _Baby!?_ His nostrils flared as she continued rambling, and the rage bubbling inside of him allowed him to set his meal down and fix her with a hateful stare. “So a minute ago I'm a _'fucking brat_ ,' but now I'm _' **baby!?** '” _

She shrank back at his acidic tone, his rage only compounding at her silence.

“And do you really think a doctor is going to be able to fucking help me at this point?” He gestured at his clawed hands and feet, then at his short, serpentine tail.

“I...” Her eyes flicked over to the exit, only for a split second, but Curtis still noticed the reaction.

“What's wrong, _Mom_? You wanna leave? Am I... _scaring you?”_ He made sure to lace each word with as much sarcastic venom as possible, and the delicious schadenfreude he experienced as frightened tears rolled down Mom's face was better than the hunk of pork he'd just been gnawing on.

“Curtis...” she whispered, taking a slight step back. “I'm going to get you some help... I don't know what's going on—”

“No!” he shrieked. “You don't! You never do! You think this shit just happened in the past five minutes!?” He slammed his hand on the ground, and she jumped. “I literally thought I was going to die earlier today, and you would have had no fucking idea! You and everyone else need to stop acting like you know what's best for me because none of you have a fucking clue!”

He hurled a can out of fury, and she let out a terrified sob, falling backward and scooting away. She fumbled with her pocket, and Curtis bared his razor-sharp teeth. Rising to his feet, he ducked to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. “What are you doing with your phone, _Mom_?”

Her tear-stained face looked back up at his towering figure, and a desperate whimper escaped her lips. “Please... I-I'm going... right now... I won't bother you, I promise—”

“ _What are you doing with your phone, Mom!?_ ”

She stared at him, chest heaving, her pupils so dilated he almost couldn't see her irises. They remained motionless like that, neither one taking their eyes off the other. The seconds ticked by, slowly, painfully.

Mom was the first to break. She flung her purse at him and bolted toward the front door.

A roar exploded out of his mouth as he charged at her, knocking her down with one swing. All he could see was red and her screams fell on deaf ears.

***

The apartment was still, quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and his own soft weeping. Curtis couldn't stop crying. At first, he had tried shaking her, but her glassy stare and gashed throat only meant one thing—she was dead.

Because he had killed her.

He hadn't been aware of his actions when he attacked her—all he remembered was an indescribable rage and a strange roar in his ears that didn't sound human. But when he finally came to, his head was buried in her abdomen as he tore into her organs, that awful hunger still clawing away at his insides. It took all of his willpower, but with a horrified gasp, he had managed to pull himself away, blinking at the mess of blood leading into the kitchen. Now, here he was, crying over his own mother's corpse that he had partially eaten.

But the worst part of the whole situation was Curtis’ reason for crying. He didn't cry because he felt awful... rather, he cried because _he should have._ This was something unforgivable, something for which he'd have to spend the rest of his life in prison— _Oh God, I'm only eighteen. What have I done? I'm never going to have a life_ —but he still couldn't bring himself to feel any actual remorse over the action, no matter how hard he tried. She had never been a good mother, never been nurturing or kind or loving like mothers were supposed to be. She had always just been bitter and spiteful, only showing affection to try to get back at Dad. What kind of a mother was that?

A soft scratching noise distracted him from his distress. He looked up, eyes widening in realization. Briefly, he debated whether to open the window before choosing his need for comfort—Truffy had always been good at that.

Sniffling, he crawled over to the living room and let the animal leap into the room. The cat turned to look at him and flattened her ears back, recoiling away from him. It was a small action, but one that made Curtis about to shatter into a million pieces. He couldn't handle this... he'd been rejected by everybody... by Bianca, by Krystal, by Malcolm... but he couldn't bear Truffy rejecting him.

“Truffy...” he pleaded, “it's me, Truffy. Don't be scared.”

He shakily held out a hand, and the cat followed the action with dilated eyes. Trembling, he sucked in a breath as Truffy sniffed the offered appendage, somewhat apprehensive. Upon picking up his scent, she relaxed and rubbed her cheek against him—Curtis nearly bawled at the gesture.

He scooped the now purring Truffy into his arms and rested his cheek against the soft fur. They stayed like that before Truffy began to struggle, and he released the animal onto the floor.

Tail held high, she scampered across the living room toward the kitchen, Curtis lumbering behind. When she reached the room, the animal sniffed Mom's body before settling on her haunches to chew on the flesh.

“Truffy!” Curtis shrieked.

Truffy whipped her head around to stare at him as he clapped a hand over his mouth, guilt coursing through him. The animal watched him warily for any more outbursts and then resumed nibbling.

Curtis nearly slumped to the floor at the sight. On the one hand, he was willfully allowing Mom's corpse to be desecrated. On the other, Truffy didn't know any better. Mom's body was just another source of food to the animal—she didn't understand the concept of decorum or manners. She only wanted a meal.

Now that he thought about it, hadn't that also been his motivation when eating Mom? It hadn't been done out of spite, no matter how much resentment he held, but rather out of necessity to try to quell his stomach's cries. He hadn't been trying to be evil. Just like it wasn't evil when an animal killed a person.

Hell, the entire idea of good and evil was ridiculous to an animal. They were beings of pure drive and instinct, their actions only fueled by a desire to survive. Even the dog that had attacked him when he was ten hadn't done so out of malice—it had just been protecting its territory from an intruder.

 _But I'm not an animal_.

Another smaller voice whispered— _Are you sure? Are you really sure?_

He glanced down at his hand, covered in the hard, black substance. No, that was wrong; it was covered in _scales_. It wasn't a strange growth, but rather a different kind of skin. So did that mean…?

A smile formed on his face as the implications hit him. He didn't fit into either world anymore—he was far stronger and more bestial than any human, yet far smarter than any creature. Calling him ‘evil’ for Mom’s death was ludicrous. He had acted solely out of unthinking self-preservation; it wasn't really a question of morality.

And what of morality anyway? What good had it ever served? People did horrible things all the time despite their senses of right and wrong. Curtis knew this firsthand; he'd been mistreated his whole life. So what if he finally got fed up and lashed out? One didn't blame the tiger for killing its trainer after years of abuse.

Curtis laughed at his musings, a strange liberation filling him up to the brim with its sweetness. He didn't care what anyone thought of him anymore. He had been so focused on the negatives that he had never once considered how his transformation could benefit him. Staring down at his torso, he pulled away the tattered remains of his T-shirt, grinning at his physique: the size of his arms, the contours of his chest and abdomen, the shape of his quads... he felt _powerful._

Glancing down at the cat, he pulled a chunk of flesh off Mom and bit into it, savoring the taste. This was him—who he was meant to be.

_In the immortal words of Nicki Minaj, “I'm a motherfucking monster.”_


	19. Welcome to Apology Central

In all of Malcolm's life, he couldn't remember dreading a Saturday more than he did that morning: Curtis might blow up at him if he called, and Mom probably felt sorry for him that he wasn't going to Homecoming. Not to mention, he was still somewhat bitter at Dad for his comment Thursday night. Mom apparently felt the same way, so dinner the night before had been an awkward affair for everyone involved. Malcolm's only wish now was that things might improve with the new day.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he eventually managed to drag himself into the bathroom to wash his face, then threw some clothes on. Might as well get ready for the day... even if he had absolutely nothing to do...

He went downstairs and entered the kitchen, where Dad looked up to give him a shaky grin.

“Hey man, how's it going?”

Malcolm gave a noncommittal shrug in reply and went to rummage in the fridge for the orange juice. As he poured the beverage in a cup, the ‘ _plop-plop-plop_ ’ was the only noise before Dad cleared his throat.

“Hey, Malcolm...”

He glanced over as Dad took a step toward him.

“I've been thinking... about what I said on Thursday night. I realize that, considering the circumstances back then, it... was an insensitive thing to say, and I'm really sorry. If you'd like, I want to make it up to you today.”

He smiled again, and Malcolm couldn’t help but reciprocate the gesture—he was making an effort. In a week filled with almost nothing but misery, here was one person who was willing to swallow his pride and apologize, to show remorse for being thoughtless. Before Malcolm even knew what he was doing, he closed the gap between them and wrapped Dad in a hug.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, and Dad gripped him all the tighter.

When they finally separated, Dad's eyes sparkled. “So think about something you want to do and let me know. You got any movies you've been wanting to see?”

Malcolm shrugged again and told him he would think of something. After finishing his glass of orange juice, he put the cup in the dishwasher and headed back upstairs.

Upon reaching his room, he picked up his phone; dismay filled him at the zero notifications. It had been a faint hope, but faint was more than nothing—he just hoped Curtis was doing okay.

A slight chill went down his spine as an intrusive thought wormed its way in, hissing— _What if something truly awful has happened? What if he's dying or already dead?_

Malcolm scowled and shoved it away. He was being paranoid. Curtis was probably just giving him the silent treatment—he'd done it before.

Still, he couldn't help but have his stomach twist at his earlier worries. An idea popped into his head on how to check up on the guy, and he headed back downstairs and called for Dad.

Once he appeared, Malcolm asked him, “Hey, do you want to go to Sandy's?”

“Sure. Right now or you want to wait a bit?”

“Right now is fine.”

They loaded themselves into Dad’s old pickup truck and drove to the fast food joint. When they arrived, Malcolm hopped out and hurried inside, with Dad close behind. They ordered their food—chicken sandwich for Dad and bacon burger for him—and then sat down at a table, making conversation that basically amounted to weather talk.

The lackluster exchange wasn't entirely Dad's fault. Malcolm remained distracted throughout as his eyes wandered over the employees behind the counter. None of the red-and-black dressed figures looked anything like Curtis, and his stomach started to sink before remembering an important detail—Curtis usually worked in the back at the drive-thru.

At a certain point, Dad went to the restroom, and he took advantage of the opportunity. He rushed to the counter and asked the bored-looking cashier, “Hey, is Curtis Henderson working today?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, that guy. No. He didn't freaking show up today or Thursday. Didn't even call with an excuse. He your friend or something?”

Malcolm murmured out a confirmation, dropping his gaze. _Not even Thursday..._

She snorted. “Well, the manager is pissed. If you see Curtis, let him know he’s fired. We already tried calling him, but he didn't pick up; maybe you'll be luckier.”

Bidding her a half-hearted “thank you,” he trudged back to the table—no way he could finish his food now.

Dad returned from the bathroom and noticed his melancholy state. “Hey kid, something up?”

Malcolm shook his head, and Dad didn’t pry further.

Upon finishing his sandwich, Dad wiped his mouth with a napkin and then glanced back at the counter. “Hey, your friend Curtis works here, right? Is he here today?” The response was another non-verbal no, and he gave a brief chuckle. “Ha, lucky duck. Guess they finally gave him a weekend off.”

He stood up, and they left the establishment, Malcolm staring morosely out the window the whole drive home.

***

 _Don't call him,_ one part of him argued. _He'll just act like he did on Thursday. Or he won't even pick up, and you'll only annoy him._

Another poked its head out and begged— _But maybe he'll pick up this time and be sincere. You never know. It's driving you crazy not knowing if he's okay._

Sitting in his room, Malcolm could only stare down at the device in his hands, his thumb tracing circles over the screen. He had been like this for over half an hour, too torn between the opposing factions of his brain to come to a decision.

His thumb accidentally pressed the green “ _Call_ ” icon, and he freaked out as the ringing sound began. He held the phone up to his ear, trembling, and waited several excruciating seconds before the automated voice message started up. Slumping his shoulders, he sighed at the beep.

“Hey, Curtis, it's Malcolm again. Hope I'm not bothering you. Anyway, I went to Sandy's today, and you weren't there, so I was just wondering if everything was okay. If you're sick, let me know and I'll bring you something. Anyway, hope you have a good day. Let me know if you want to hang out tonight. Bye.”

Once the call ended, he stared down at the screen, worry nibbling at every inch of him. If worse came to worse, he could always just head over to Curtis' place himself, but the memory of what occurred on Thursday made him balk at the idea.

Another voice inside of him spoke up— _You could do what you were going to do originally and tell Mom about the formula._

He cringed at the suggestion. It was starting to look like that was his only option, but man... an image flashed through his head of Mom's heartbroken face, sobbing out, “ _They're going to fire me, Malcolm! How could you do this!?_ ” and he took a shuddering breath.

 _Let's make a deal_ , he pleaded to his conscience. _If I don't hear anything from Curtis by tonight, I will go tell Mom. That sound okay?_

This compromise seemed to satisfy his internal moral dilemma. He put on a smile and made his way down the steps and into the living room, where Mom sat reading a book.

“Hey, honey, you feeling any better today?” she asked without looking up.

He nodded—wait, she couldn’t see that. “Yeah, I am. Dad apologized to me, and we went to Sandy's.”

She furrowed her brow. “Isn't that where Curtis works?”

Malcolm’s lip twitched at the mention, and Mom—seemingly unobservant of his reaction—inquired further, “Was he there? Did he apologize to you for being so mean on Thursday?”

“Uh...” Malcolm fidgeted. “I think he might be off this weekend. I didn't see him. I'm still trying to get ahold of him to find out whether our plans for tonight are still on or not.”

The response made her scowl. “I don't know if I want him over here again if he's not going to say sorry for hurting your feelings.” She bit her lip. “And... that whole story about the fight... I'm honestly a little alarmed at hearing that.”

What did he say to that? He just gave a strained smile and excused himself from the room, hurrying back up to his bedroom. _If she’s gonna enforce that rule, I won’t be able to see Curtis ever._

Starting up a game of _Zelda: Breath of the Wild_ , he soon immersed himself in the fictional world and lost track of time. He was battling with some lizard monsters when his phone sounded, and the Ariana Grande song jarred him back to reality. As he glanced at the screen, his jaw dropped at the Caller ID—Curtis Henderson.

“H-hello?” he stammered.

“Hey, Malcolm,” came the voice from the other line.

Malcolm's eyebrows creased—why was Curtis using speakerphone?

“I got your messages. Sorry I didn't respond. I wasn't feeling too good yesterday.”

“Oh.” He scratched the top of his head. “Yeah, you do sound kind of hoarse. Are you feeling better?”

There was a pause and then Curtis responded, “Yeah, I feel great. Much better than yesterday.”

“Oh, good.” Malcolm let out a weak laugh before clamping his mouth shut. Holy cow, just because he was anxious didn't mean he needed to be this awkward.

“Yeah. Anyway, I just wanted to say that... well... I was pretty awful to you on Thursday, and the stuff I said really wasn't called for. I'm really sorry about it. I shouldn't have done that to you.”

If he hadn't been sitting, Malcolm was positive he would have fallen to the floor out of shock. Getting such a sincere apology out of Curtis wasn't something he had imagined happening in a million years, but it made an involuntary smile form on his face. “Oh... wow. Thanks. That's... that's really big of you to admit that. I... I'm sorry for making you get so upset.”

Curtis let out a ' _pfft_.' “Stop apologizing, Malcolm. I get it now that you weren't trying to do that. You were just worried, because there was a lot going on, but…” He paused. “I… it means a lot. That you actually care. It really does.”

Malcolm blinked. This was getting weirder by the moment. “It’s no big deal.” He swallowed an awkward laugh. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Yeah.” Another pause, followed by a quiet, “What you’re here for… Anyway,” Curtis’ volume returned to normal, “I've been thinking a lot today, and I really think I should make it up to you for being so shitty. I'll be by later tonight; I've got a few things to do here first. But I've got a surprise for you, so get ready for that.”

 _Hope it's not like the 'surprise' Tuesday night_. He then internally scolded himself; Curtis was being genuinely nice, and he was making snide comments in his head. “Well, I know you said you're feeling better, but if you want, I could just come over ther—”

“No!”

Malcolm jumped at the vehement response, and Curtis chuckled nervously.

“Sorry about that. I just... um... you really don't have to do that.”

“I don't mind.”

“No, I know you don't. It's just... the place is a fucking mess right now, and I'd rather go over to your house anyway.”

“Oh... okay.” Malcolm frowned—the guy had never cared about the cleanliness of the apartment before. “So what time were you thinking about coming over?”

“Oh... I don't know... later, you know? Probably a while from now.”

Malcolm frowned again. _Okay, that's really vague._ “Uh... sure.” He lowered his voice to a whisper: “So... I haven't told my parents about how... um... different you look. Do you want me to go say something before you show up?”

Curtis laughed, the sound distorted from his speakerphone. “No, it's okay. Don't bother with that. I'll take care of it myself when I show up.”

There was a strange crunching noise, and Malcolm furrowed his brow. “Hey, what's that sound?”

A palpable silence hung in the air before Curtis stammered, “Oh... it's an... um... chicken wing...”

The reply made Malcolm roll his eyes—figures Curtis would still have a huge appetite. “All right then, you enjoy that. I'll see you later tonight.”

“Yeah, see you too. Bye.”

The line went dead, and Malcolm stared down at the floor, lost in thought. As happy as he was that Curtis was talking to him and had even apologized, he couldn't shake his apprehension—man, that whole conversation had been _strange_. Hopefully, he could ask Curtis about it when he saw him tonight. In the meantime, this was a huge improvement over anything else that had happened since yesterday—time to stop being such a Debbie Downer.

He got up and headed toward the staircase. He needed to tell Mom that he and Curtis were good now. She might still have some reservations about him coming over because of the fight, but this was better than nothing.

Still... why had Curtis reacted so strongly to the suggestion of him coming over? That was by far the weirdest thing, even weirder than Curtis’ out-of-character apology. Was this some alternate reality?

Oh well, Malcolm didn't know. Just another thing that didn't make sense in the grand scheme of life.

 _Besides,_ _it's been a weird week. I'm probably just overanalyzing everything._


	20. A Game to Win

The referee's whistle cut through the air, and Adam slowed his pace down to a walk. Harris clapped him on the shoulder, and they turned and jogged back to the sidelines as the last cheers echoed across the field.

Coach Hamell stood, arms folded, while his players assembled around him. Most grabbed water or sports drinks in an attempt to rehydrate themselves, while a few took the breather to mop sweat from their brow.

Once everyone was present and accounted for, Coach unfolded his arms. “All right, great hustle, guys! Harris, great defense. Keep that up. Liam, keep your head down; you were losing form out there. And Adam, you're doing pretty good, but keep your focus. You looked a little distracted at times.”

Adam nodded as Coach continued with his halftime pointers. Now that he had the man's input, he surreptitiously glanced at the bleachers. While mostly filled with high school kids and parents, he could make out a few men in more formal clothing conversing with one another—the recruiters from State.

His stomach flip-flopped. They had been in contact since his junior year, and he had done everything in his power to get the Division 1 scholarship. While he had some offers from other schools, the one for State was a full ride—he wouldn't have to worry about loans at all. Barring that, he would only add to the family’s ever-growing debt pile. He needed all the help he could get, and it would crush him if he blew his one chance due to personal problems.

Getting wrapped in a headlock took him away from his anxious thoughts, and he laughed as he shoved Ethan away from him. “Hey, not cool, dude.”

Ethan just shoved him back, and they laughed again before taking their seats on the bench. Tommy plopped next to Adam, forcing him to slide over to make room for the guy’s broad shoulders, and handed both him and Ethan water bottles.

They thanked him, and he asked, “So, bet you guys are happy you won't have morning and afternoon practices after this week?”

After chugging the water, Ethan wiped his mouth. “God, you better fucking believe it. It's been brutal.”

Adam nodded as well before taking a swig, with Tommy smiling in response.

While not a member of the football team, none of the players took offense at the wrestler sitting with them. They greeted him like any other teammate, and he faced away from Adam and Ethan momentarily to joke around with a couple other guys. Adam watched the exchange, quirking a small smile—the boy's sunny personality and supportive nature won everyone over. Hell, if anyone deserved to be Homecoming King, it was him.

“Hey,” Adam murmured to Tommy, “I already told Ethan, but since I haven't said anything to you... thanks for listening to me Wednesday night when I was... um..."

“Having a shit fit?” Ethan offered, to which the corners of Tommy's lips curled into a smile.

Adam cringed. “Yeah...”

His embarrassment only escalated as Tommy caught him by surprise in a tight side hug while Ethan looked on, chuckling.

“Dude, don't worry about it. I get it, all right,” Tommy said, ignoring Adam's protests at the sudden physical affection. After mussing up his hair, Tommy finally released him. “You’ve had a lot on your plate recently, and stuff just keeps happening. Like, geez, that dude going after Bianca on Thursday—”

Ethan cleared his throat loudly, and Tommy clamped his mouth shut. He lowered his head. “Uh... you know, never mind...”

“What happened to Bianca?” Adam swiveled his head back and forth between the squirming Ethan and guilty Tommy. “What do you guys know?”

Ethan averted his gaze as well. “Look, she told him off. Nothing bad happened. I just figured—”

“You just figured _what?_ ”

Sighing, Ethan then licked his lips. “I didn’t want you to find out that Bianca got hit on. I know things are sensitive right now, and I didn’t want you flying off the handle and rushing to go kick the guy’s ass.”

 _Are you kidding me?_ “So when did you get the role of babysitter?” Adam spat.

Ethan swallowed. “Okay, I shouldn’t have everybody keep things from you; that’s my bad. Maybe I was just projecting because that’s what I would have wanted to do, but dude... it was that weird guy, the one everybody’s talking about. He’s fucking huge, and I didn’t wanna risk you doing anything.”

“I can handle myself,” Adam muttered. He glanced over as Tommy rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Nobody says you can’t,” Tommy said. “But I agree with Ethan. This is the same guy who sent Joel Scalf to the hospital. You don’t want to confront that level of crazy.”

This time, Adam was the one who averted his gaze. He stared at his shoes, still fuming. On some level he understood their motivation, but this was his ex, dammit, and he deserved to know things. Hell, had he known, he could have at least checked up on her. Then again, she probably would have ignored the text just like all his others...

He sighed, the anger seeping out of him as fatigue set in. Wow, barely two weeks after his break-up, and already people thought it was open season. And not just anyone, but that dude... what was his name? Kermit, or something?

Eh, whatever. Ethan shot him an apologetic glance, and he forced a small smile. “Thor—I apologize, guys. I appreciate you looking out for me, even if I don’t always act like it.”

The two boys echoed sentiments of “don’t sweat it,” and Ethan laughed.

“Hey, you stopped me enough times from getting my ass handed to me when I wasn’t thinking right. I figured it was about time I returned the favor.”

Adam’s smile was genuine this time. “Well, somebody has to make sure your face stays intact,” he joked.

With the tension lifted, Adam’s mood improved. Regardless of the initial outcome, Ethan and Tommy’s intent hadn’t been malicious. They were right that he had enough to worry about right now. He didn’t need to distress himself over some random asshole whose only relatable traits were an appreciation for Bianca’s looks and a dislike of Joel Scalf—supplying weed at parties didn’t make up for Joel calling a couple of the theatre kids “ _fags_ ,” and he’d decided long ago this was a douchebag not worth knowing.

When the marching band strode onto the field, the three of them turned their attention toward the formation, awaiting the show.

The brass instruments started first, followed by the drummers. A rapt audience watched their motions, the carefully ordered line of musicians snaking around the field. They neared the completion of their routine when a medium-sized pig raced into their ranks, throwing the whole group into chaos. Another soon joined it, the two shrieking and running around at the noise and lights.

“What's going on?” Tommy asked, frowning at the spectacle.

“No clue.” Ethan craned his neck in the direction the pigs had appeared while several faculty members attempted to round the animals up. “Hey, I think I see Symcox dragging Peter Dodson away. Looks like he's chewing him out or something.”

“Holy shit, was this seriously the ' _fantastic_ ' prank he was planning?” Adam scowled.

Both Tommy and Ethan snickered at the comment, shaking their heads in disbelief.

Tommy sighed. “I feel sorry for the marching band. They worked their asses off, and now it gets blown by a stupid prank.”

“Definitely not Tony Quigley,” Ethan murmured, and both Adam and Tommy nodded vehemently in agreement.

Once the pigs had been detained, the marching band filed off the field, their grumbles and muttered complaints reaching all the way to the bench. Quiet settled over the area, only broken by the faint whispering of the students.

With almost no warning, loud pop music blared from the speakers as the cheerleaders catapulted themselves onto the field with handsprings and cartwheels. The crowd went wild, and Adam couldn't help but grin. At the center—having finished her handspring—a dark-haired girl descended into a perfect split, arms raised in the air as she wore a beauty queen smile. Adam would have liked to think of something poetic to compare Bianca to, but the only thought going through his mind was— _Wow, she's amazing!_

The girls performed a dance to a song—some top 40 hit, he had no idea what—and then finished it off with a pyramid formation. Bianca fell into the rest of the girls' outstretched arms, and the audience roared and clapped as they caught her.

As loud as the crowd was, Adam was sure his whistles and screams accounted for a good chunk of the noise. He let out a few more ‘ _whoops_ ’ before Principal Symcox and a woman marched onto the field.

“Well, I think I can safely say that both the marching band and cheerleaders really outdid themselves this year, even with the distraction,” Symcox announced into a wireless microphone, and a cheer went up once more. He waited for it to die out and continued, “But now we get to an event I'm sure many of you have been waiting for... the announcement of your Homecoming King and Queen!”

More thunderous applause echoed around the field.

Handing the microphone over to the woman, Symcox then stepped backward while she gave a radiant smile and waved.

“Hey, Wesley High! Are you guys having a good time?”

She held her hand to her ear, and the student body screamed out an enthusiastic “ _yes!_ ”

“All right!” she exclaimed. “Well, my name is Caitlyn Pease. I graduated about ten years ago from this very high school. And now I'm here, as an alum, ready to announce the winners for the 2017 Homecoming King and Queen! It's such an honor to be with you all today. So let's give one more cheer for all the amazing students and faculty who made this week possible!”

Yet another cacophony of whistles and claps went up around the field as she pulled two envelopes out of her pocket.

Opening the first envelope, she announced, “So the runner-up for King—our Prince if you will—for this year's Homecoming is... Thomas Hartnett!”

At the news, Ethan twisted to face Tommy, mouth open wide. “Dude, you got runner-up! That's crazy!”

He clapped the guy hard on the back, and Tommy grinned, rising from his seat to go join Caitlyn and the principal on the field. He shook both of their hands, and then Caitlyn held up a finger to silence the crowd.

“Now, for your Homecoming King... Adam McCollum!”

Again, the student body shrieked with excitement, and Adam could only blink as a laughing Ethan shoved him off the bench. Righting himself, he made his way over to the small group and mimicked Tommy's motions from earlier, turning to smile at the ecstatic crowd. Truthfully, it didn’t feel earned—why did he get it instead of Tommy?

Once everyone had stopped clapping, Caitlyn opened up the other envelope, pulling out the winners for Princess and Queen. Looking up, she gave that same radiant smile. “This year's runner-up for Queen, your Homecoming Princess, is... Holly Chesterfield!”

As applause rang throughout the field, Adam scanned the crowd for the brown-haired girl before remembering she was on the cheerleading squad. He redirected his attention, finally noticing her as she moved down the sidelines toward the rest of the group. Her smile looked strained, and pity stung him—apparently, she had really wanted to win.

After Holly arrived and finished the formality of shaking hands, Caitlyn once again grinned at the crowd. “And for your Homecoming Queen... drumroll, please!”

Students slapped the bleachers before the marching band outdid them with an actual, authentic drumroll. Caitlyn waited until everyone had their fill.

Once silence filled the area, she announced, “Bianca Torres!”

Adam winced at the almost deafening roar of applause as the other cheerleader headed their way. She, too, shook the hands of both the principal and Caitlyn, then took her place beside Holly. He could have sworn an ugly look flickered across Holly's face as Bianca situated herself, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions.

As the clapping faded, he shot Bianca a grin. She didn't make eye contact. Her eyes remained glued to the crowd, that beauty queen smile still stuck on her face, but looking quite a bit more forced than earlier.

An odd pressure formed in the back of his throat, and he turned back to the crowd. He waved along with the other three, outwardly smiling but crumbling inside.

The principal had a few more words for the school, but Adam couldn't bring himself to care what they were. Tommy pushed him back toward his team, where he quickly drank water and then re-equipped his helmet. Shaking his shoulders, he gritted his teeth. He had a game to win, and not even Bianca's frosty exterior could slow him down today.


	21. It Was a Cold Night

As the end credits to another episode of _Future Diary_ faded out, Malcolm glanced out his bedroom window, frowning at the dark sky. _Where the heck is he!?_ Even after several texts asking for arrival estimates, he had still received zip. Had the guy forgotten or something?

“Malcolm!”

He glanced toward the hallway at Mom's voice.

“Will you please take the trash out?”

“Coming!” he called back, shutting his laptop and heading down the stairs. When he reached the kitchen, he pulled the garbage bag out of the bin and tied it. Hoisting it up, he trotted toward the back door.

Outside, he stopped for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. A cold wind blew past, raising the hair on his arms and sending a shiver down his spine, but he didn't return inside for a jacket—he was only going to be out here for a little bit. Walking through his backyard toward the alley behind the house, he glanced at the asphalt beyond the fence, shrouded in shadow. A lone street lamp illuminated some of the area, but the place always appeared exceptionally creepy at night.

Shaking his head, Malcolm scolded himself for getting nervous. _Too much **Future Diary** getting to me... _

After opening the gate, he entered the back alley, where the small dumpster that his family shared with the neighbors resided. He flipped open the lid, raised the trash bag up, and—

“Boo.”

The simple three-letter word made him jump, and a smile appeared at the corner of his lips—so Curtis decided to scare him, huh?

“All right, you got me,” he chuckled, tossing the bag inside the dumpster. “But next time, I'll...”

The words died in his throat as he turned around. Because there, he beheld the massive silhouette of... _something._ Something that was looking right at _him._

His legs buckled beneath him as the _thing_ rushed at him, extraordinarily fast for its size. Squeezing his eyes shut, he opened his mouth to scream. He was ready to breathe his last just as an enormous, rough hand clapped over his lips, and a voice hissed, “ _Don't scream! It's okay!_ ”

Malcolm gave a few muffled shrieks as the hand stifled him, flailing wildly in an attempt to free himself from the thing's grip. Panting, he stopped his vain attempt at escape, finally cracking an eye open to see his killer.

The hunched over form of Curtis stared back at him. Or something that mostly _looked_ like Curtis. Most of his features were the same, aside from the horrifyingly sharp teeth in his mouth and vertical slits for pupils in his reddish-orange eyes. However, the most prominent difference revealed itself soon after.

At first, Curtis seemed to be quite close, but something was off. When it clicked, Malcolm’s stomach turned. Everything looked magnified: Curtis' head was much larger than it had been a few days ago, as if someone had given their best shot at imitating his face but with the wrong dimensions. Familiar, yet alien at the same time.

Giving what Malcolm assumed was supposed to be a reassuring smile—but appearing more menacing than anything else—he murmured, “If you promise not to make any loud noises, I'll let you up, okay? I just don't want you alerting the whole neighborhood.”

Pulse still racing, Malcolm nodded, and Curtis moved his bizarre, scaly hand away. When he held it out, Malcolm shakily grasped it, almost yelping as he was yanked to his feet. He had a vague awareness of Curtis chuckling, “I'm glad you came outside. Otherwise, I would have had to throw rocks at your window or something” while it was happening, but he didn't pay the comment much attention. Instead, he tried to process the current circumstances— _W_ _hat is happening? Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—_ and almost fell down again upon Curtis’ full reveal.

Before, Malcolm had only seen a monstrous shadow, the edges melded together in darkness. Now, bathed in the street lamp's yellow glow, everything stood out in stark relief: the twitching spiked tail, the talon-like feet, the cruel claws—but it was nothing compared to Curtis' size. He was easily twice as tall as Malcolm and wider than a doorframe, an impressively built creature straight out of a deranged maniac's fantasies.

With a jolt, Malcolm took a step back. Not even his wildest fears could have concocted something like this, and the only thought that pierced through his brain’s fog of terror was— _I think he beat Robert Wadlow._

Curtis crouched down next to him, still giving that off-putting smile. Even with the change in position, he was still several inches taller, and it did little to mitigate the apparent size disparity between them. This detail proved too much; the full extent of Curtis' transformation hit Malcolm, and he had to swallow a wail from escaping his throat. This is what he had done by spilling the formula—he had ruined his friend's chances of ever having a normal life.

“Oh God, I... I didn't... know... Curtis... you... I... I'm so sorry... I didn't know... oh God... maybe... I'll ask Dr. Reeder... no... wait... yes... maybe... he might know what to do... oh God... you have a tail... oh God...” he babbled, words flitting in and out of his mind like flies.

Curtis didn't appear bothered in the slightest. If anything, Malcolm's word salad only seemed to amuse him. “Malcolm... chill... everything is okay. I'm not upset about this.”

“What!?” Malcolm gaped at the statement, guilt and horror still churning inside of him. His breathing rate steadily increased, and he clutched his pant leg in an attempt to prevent hyperventilating.

Curtis noticed the reaction as well and laid a huge clawed hand on his shoulder. “You can calm down. I swear, I really am okay with this.” He glanced behind him at his several foot-long tail and laughed. “Like, I won't lie—it was pretty fucking weird at first. But I've gotten the hang of it. See?”

The appendage snaked around and rose in front of Malcolm's awestruck form. With just a twitch, the tip flicked him in the nose, causing him to blink and scrunch his face in response.

“Heh. Boop. Got ya.”

Despite the playful gesture, dread still pooled in his stomach and he had to fight back tears once more. “But what... what are you going to _do?_ You can't...” He swallowed and fixed Curtis with a hollow stare. “You know what people will do to you. They won't... they won't... oh God, they'll—”

“Malcolm, I literally don't give a shit what anyone thinks about me at this point.”

At this, Malcolm just clamped his mouth shut.

The Curtis-creature's eyes then lit up as his impressive grin appeared, far more terrifying than it had ever been, because of the collective visibility of every fanged tooth. “See, I've been thinking all last night and today about what all this means for me, and I've come to some pretty fucking cool revelations.”

“What?” Malcolm whispered, rooted to the spot.

Curtis patted his shoulder, chuckling. “Glad you asked! You see, Malcolm, I get why you're so freaked out. It's because you're looking at all of this through the eyes of a normal person, a human's view. It's a limited one, but it's all you have, so you roll with it. I was upset at first for the same reason—what am I going to do in a human world?”

As he spoke, Malcolm shook from both the cold air and the dread coalescing in his stomach.

Curtis didn't seem to notice and laughed at his own ramblings. “But then I had an epiphany—I'm not part of the human world anymore! I don't fit there, both mentally and physically; I'm far too animalistic for that, and now I got these suckers.” He flexed the clawed hand not resting on Malcolm's trembling shoulder.

“You see, animals don't care about the same stuff as humans. They just care about living day to day, doing what their instincts tell them to do. None of the complicated crap that people fuss about—jobs and social lives and etiquette and blah. All of that doesn't mean shit to a dog or a cat or anything else. And with all the similarities I have to an animal, I started to realize that I just don't fucking care about any of that stuff either. And it's great! All of a sudden, all of my insecurities and hang-ups and fears—they're fucking meaningless! It's like I was a caterpillar and now I'm out of my cocoon. I literally can't remember the last time I felt this happy!”

Fighting back a wave of nausea, Malcolm managed to choke out, “But... you're not an _animal_ , Curtis.” At Curtis' skeptical look, he insisted, “I'm glad you've found a silver lining, but just because you have claws and stuff doesn't make you less human.”

“Eh... that's debatable,” he muttered.

Malcolm only continued to stare, at a loss for words.

Meanwhile, Curtis' smile became more sinister. “Now here comes the part where I know I'll have to do a bit of convincing.” He tilted his head, reptilian eyes glinting in the glow of the streetlamp. “I came to another realization, not just about myself today, but about the world.”

Malcolm wished he could take a step back at the foreboding comment, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate, and Curtis seemed oblivious to his discomfort.

Running a purple tongue along his lips, Curtis asked, “Malcolm, why do people do bad things?”

“W-wha—”

“And also, what _stops_ people from doing bad things?”

Malcolm’s heart felt about to burst out of his chest it was beating so rapidly. He sputtered, “Um... I... I don't know... why people do bad stuff... but... they don't... do it... because... it's wrong?”

“Vague. Too vague.”

He shrank at the criticism, and Curtis' voice took on a patronizing tone.

“People have different ideas of right and wrong. Sure, there are laws and rules and whatnot, but even those are constantly debated and criticized. No, what _exactly_ motivates someone to follow those rules, to not do the so-called 'bad' stuff?”

“Because...” Malcolm struggled to speak for a moment, the fog of terror still nestled around his brain. “Because... they don't want to get in trouble?” he offered, and Curtis let out a ' _whoop_ ' of excitement, clapping him on the back with such force that it knocked him clean off his feet.

“Sorry, sorry!” Curtis muttered sheepishly, plucking him up and dusting him off. “I underestimate my strength, still getting a little used to that. But anyway, exactly right! Threat of punishment!” He flicked his tail and frowned. “And as for why people do bad stuff... eh, nobody really knows. My personal opinion is it's because people are generally pretty shitty.”

Another cold wind blew past, piercing straight through Malcolm. He shuddered and rubbed his arms as Curtis continued with his musings.

“So people obey the rules and follow the law. They live as upstanding citizens out of fear of consequences. And yet, why are there still so many people who go to prison every year? Hell, looking at a smaller scale such as our school, think about how many people go to detention every week even though there are repercussions. Why is that?”

For a moment, Malcolm didn't realize Curtis was awaiting an answer, but upon the expectant expression, he faltered out a meek, “Because they don't care about getting in trouble?”

Again, Curtis' eyes lit up. “Knew I could count on you! Turns out you make the Honor Roll every year for a reason, huh?”

Malcolm laughed nervously at the praise, fidgeting. What exactly was Curtis getting at?

“See, that's the issue with the consequences—they're not severe enough. So people continue to do bad stuff and be shitty, as per their nature, because there's not enough motivation to behave. But let's say the ante is upped; you increase the severity of the punishments. Well, now people don't want to do that stuff, do they?”

“I... I suppose... they wouldn't, no...”

“No, they wouldn't.” Curtis paused and glanced at the streetlight, his slit-like pupils disappearing in its glare.

Malcolm just averted his gaze at the sight—he had enough goose bumps without trying to maintain it.

“So to cut to the chase and tie everything together...” Curtis murmured. “While animals only care about living day to day, their behavior and actions are quite motivated. An animal that behaves in an unusual manner doesn't last very long; the consequences are often fatal. In today's world, as part of the complicated mess of society, we have some amount of safety in how we live. And yet, there are those who still get away with wrongdoing in every form because we find severe punishments to be barbaric. But threaten someone with _dire_ consequences—oh, they'll change their ways.”

The desire to hyperventilate returned as Malcolm listened, immobile. _Please don't let this go where I think it's going..._

 _“_ As I began to fully grasp the implications of my state—not quite animal, not quite human—I realized that being outside of society gives me a special advantage. I no longer care for rules, but others do—and they're still getting hurt by following them when so many don't. Hell, I used to get hurt all the time. And I was sick of it, but I never had the power to do anything.” He turned his attention back to Malcolm, twitching his tail.

“But now I do. And I figure tonight seems like a good time to use it.” He grinned savagely. “Tonight, Malcolm Sanders, is going to be the most memorable Homecoming in all of Wesley High history—the day that everyone who ever fucked with me will regret being born, and anyone who ever thought about being shitty will never consider it again. And I want you to be there to witness it.”

The blood froze in Malcolm's veins as the dread in his stomach sank like a stone. Despite his urge to scream, his mouth could only hang open at the grinning creature standing in front of him. Of all the instances where he hadn't known how to respond, this one topped them all—what in the world could he say to something like this?

Curtis sighed heavily. “Well, I was expecting this. I knew you would probably take some convincing.”

The statement snapped him back into the moment. “Convince me of what? I don't... I don't even know what you want to do! Or why you want me there if you knew I wouldn't be okay with it!”

Curtis shushed him with a talon-like finger across his lips. “Listen, Malcolm... calm down, will you? I'm here to change your life, make sure you never have to suffer ever again. I know you don't like the methods—you already stated that on Thursday—but I think I can change your mind.”

Malcolm could only stare down at the claw, his gaze moving to where it joined the hand, then traveling up the scaly arm. A mesmerized horror filled him at the strange transition between the black armored skin and normal flesh at the elbow. Swallowing his fear, he backed away slightly and whispered, “Curtis, what are you planning on doing tonight?”

Those sharp teeth appeared as Curtis smiled once more. “I'm going to punish them, Malcolm. In a way that nobody will ever forget.”

“Are... are you going to cut them?”

The smile grew wider as Curtis chuckled, flexing his claws. “Well... for starters.”

Whatever blood still remaining in Malcolm's face drained away, and he found himself shaking his head without even realizing it. “No... I don't... you're right, I would need convincing. But you're wrong that you can change my mind. That won't happen.”

“Malcolm,“ Curtis cooed. “I know you like being a good person and that you always try to see the best in everyone. I'm always amazed at how thoughtful you are—hell, it's one of your best qualities. I can't even tell you how awful I felt about my behavior when I listened to your messages. But that's why I'm here right now trying to make it up to you. You deserve to get back at those assholes. Why do they get to hurt you, and you just have to take it?”

“No! Curtis, it... you...” He shuddered and took a deep breath. “Your plan is evil! And... and... stupid! You really think people are just going to sit by and watch you hurting others without getting the police!? And then... you think the police will just let you get away with it?”

Curtis didn't seem perturbed by the questions. Instead, he just continued to grin. “I think I can handle whatever they throw at me. I'm really fucking strong—like, I don't think you realize the extent of it. I was smashing shit around the apartment all day today to see what I could do, and it's... pretty fucking impressive." He straightened as he headed over to the dumpster, then squatted down. “Check this out.”

With a grunt, he lifted the entire thing, all six-hundred pounds, several feet into the air as Malcolm stared open-mouthed. _Holy cow…_

Before setting it down, Curtis shot him a smirk. “Besides that, I've got an ace up my sleeve... well, if I had a sleeve.”

Malcolm glanced at Curtis' bare torso, the scars nearly invisible, and grimaced. “Curtis, I don't think you're in a right state of mind—”

“Oh, Malcolm—”

“No, don't interrupt!” he hissed, managing to force his leaden feet forward. His expression turned pleading. “Look... I know I haven't lived here as long as you. A-and that they haven't done as much stuff to me, so maybe I'm a little more forgiving than you. But I do know what it feels like to get mistreated, and I still don't agree with you. I believe you're better than this, Curtis! Please!”

Folding his arms across his massive chest, Curtis bared his teeth. “So... you forgive the people at your old school?”

The question made Malcolm hesitate. “Well... I—”

“And do you really believe that the same kind of shit that happened there wouldn't happen here? That, if given enough time, they wouldn't fuck you over just as badly?”

Malcolm bristled. “Curtis, don't talk about my old school. You don't know what happened th—”

“Yes, I do, Malcolm!” he snarled. “I know exactly what went down! I know that you always got picked on and made fun of throughout grade school and middle school, but that everything went to hell your sophomore year. I know there was a boy in your grade who talked to you and hung out with you a couple times, who made you feel like you could confide in him. And so you told him you were gay—the first time you ever admitted it to anyone—and what did that fucker do?”

“He told everybody you propositioned him, made up some story about how you tried to attack him when he refused. That you were some horrific pervert who kept candid pictures of all the guys in the class in a secret album. And all of a sudden, you were the school freak. People sent you death threats, they beat you up every day, they put dog shit in your locker and told you to kill yourself.”

“I know it got so bad you had to be homeschooled for the second half of the year and see a therapist. I know your mom was still super worried about you going to high school here in Wesley, even though nobody would know you. I know that none of the kids who ruined your life ever got expelled or anything, that the administration just kind of swept everything under the rug once you left. And I know, from the bottom of my heart, the people here _would do the exact same shit if they knew!_ ”

The world stood still for a moment, Malcolm with it. His limbs felt suddenly alien to him and his eyes refused to blink. Seized by a strong urge to vomit, the only thing he could manage was a hoarse whisper of, “How do you know that?”

Curtis rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh... uh... it was a few months ago. I was leaving your house, and your mom stopped me before I got to the door because she wanted to thank me for being, in her words, ' _such a good friend to you'_. I think she drank too much wine or something, because she just kept talking, and somehow it got on the topic of your old school, and she said all this stuff and... yeah... it was pretty uncomfortable...”

Malcolm only heard half the explanation. He couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop the hollow feeling in his gut, couldn't stop the sense of betrayal that Mom would reveal such a personal secret, couldn't stop the strange rushing in his ears and the flood of tears from behind his eyelids. He vaguely registered the sound of his name and Curtis embracing him in a hug, but he didn't pay it any heed. All he could do was sob and try to vent the emotions whirling inside of him at having the worst moments of his life thrown in his face.

No matter how much time passed, it was still like a knife in his heart every time memories of his sophomore year surfaced—the constant jeering from his classmates, the tense meetings in the principal’s office, the paranoia after getting jumped, the notes on his locker saying, “ _Kill yourself nobody will miss you anyway._ ” Of being forcibly outed to his parents—Mom sobbing out, “ ** _I'm never going to have grandchildren!_** ” and Dad's ashen face whispering, “ ** _You don't like girls... at all?_** ”

But above all, the knife pierced deepest that the boy hadn’t hated him. Hadn’t ever hated him. He didn’t matter enough to hate.  

He was so inconsequential he’d been destroyed out of boredom.

Malcolm shuddered as sobs wracked his body. Curtis still held him, rubbing his back and murmuring out things perhaps intended to console him, but he processed none of them. Eventually, he was released from the hug, and he moved his tear-streaked face to stare at the creature, whose eyes held a surprisingly soft look.

Moving his clawed hand to cup Malcolm's face, Curtis whispered, “I'm sorry that happened to you and that I brought it up. I just knew I wouldn't convince you otherwise.”

Malcolm didn't say anything. He only sniffled as tears continued to leak from his eyes. Curtis used his scaly thumb to wipe some of them away, and a twinge of confusion arose at the oddly intimate gesture, although the insurmountable grief eating Malcolm alive overpowered it.

However, even his distraught state couldn't ignore the next gesture. Eyes still conveying that strange, sad fondness, Curtis lowered his head and pressed his lips, almost _lovingly,_ against Malcolm's.

When he pulled away, he smiled, revealing his pointed teeth. “Tell you what... there's a guy in my apartment complex who has a van—this bigass vehicle; big enough that even I should fit. After we're done at Homecoming tonight, we can take it and head to your hometown. Then we can hunt down all the fuckers who ever hurt you. How's that sound?”

The words went through one ear and out another. Still reeling, Malcolm stared wide-eyed, tears momentarily halted, at the creature in front of him. “You... you... you ki—”

“Yeah, I did.” Curtis' eyes glowed with amusement, and he used the hand still cupping Malcolm’s face to caress his cheek. “Told you, I don't care about all my old hang-ups and what people think. Now that this happened, I realized I've actually been wanting to do it for a while. You’re really fucking cute, and I’m tired of trying to convince myself otherwise.” He grinned again. “I'm honestly a little jealous you figured that stuff out so long ago, while here I was, thinking that just because I liked girls I couldn't like anybody else.”

He tilted Malcolm's head up to kiss him again, and as their lips made contact, Malcolm didn't even close his eyes. He just numbly stared straight ahead at Curtis' pale skin and a few strands of his brown hair, which fluttered in the cold breeze. Everything about this was the polar opposite of that time in the bathroom. Then, it had been harsh and rushed and disdainful, while here Curtis was tender and slow and utterly invested. Yet this was somehow so much _worse_.

A fresh well of tears poured out of his eyes. This was too much. Too much to handle, too much to process, too much to experience, too much to _suffer._

He squeezed his eyes shut, quietly crying as the creature kissed him. Curtis pulled away at the moisture, once more wiping it away while Malcolm battled the maelstrom of emotions twisting inside of him. He didn't want to be here—all he wanted was to curl up under his covers and never leave. He wished he didn't have to deal with remembering his old school, wished he didn't have to contemplate hurting people at his new one, wished he hadn't spilled the formula, wished he hadn't gone outside tonight, wished _Curtis would stop kissing him_.

It was a horrible cycle. As Malcolm shed tear after tear, Curtis kept kissing them away, mouth skimming his face and lips. The unwanted action just made him cry harder, giving Curtis more motivation to continue in an attempt to ‘comfort’ him.

“It's all going to be okay,” Curtis whispered in-between brushing his lips against Malcolm's. “After tonight, we'll be running this place.” He pulled him closer, giving another slow, lingering kiss. “Nobody is going to hurt you ever again. All you gotta do is come to Homecoming with me.”

' _You're such a big fucking baby!'_ Curtis' voice shrieked in his memory while he trembled. He wanted to just run away, but he couldn't move, _why couldn't he move!?_

**' _... he'll never be satisfied... '_**

“I... I don't want to hurt anybody,” he whimpered, and Curtis wrapped his arms around him tighter. ' _And you look like you're preparing for the winter anyway. I don't want you to starve.'_

“I know you don't,” Curtis cooed, combing his fingers through Malcolm’s hair. He pressed him against the densely muscled surface of his chest more firmly, the kiss far rougher this time. As they separated, his sharp teeth scraped against Malcolm’s bottom lip. “That's why I'll hurt them for you.”

**'... _keep demanding more and more... '_**

Fighting back a wave of dizziness, Malcolm managed to look away. He forced himself to take a deep breath and regain some sense of composure. ' _If I bother you that much, I'll go sit somewhere else, and you can have your shitty life to yourself.'_

His attempt was futile. Curtis used one clawed finger to turn his chin back to face him, capturing his mouth yet again.

**_'... will use you up... ’_ **

He willed himself to stop crying, to shove Curtis away. Yet he still couldn't move, not with the strange paralysis affecting him. ' _You keep claiming you want to be a doctor, but you can't even fucking take care of yourself!_ '

God, he wished Curtis was wearing more than the now skin-tight basketball shorts from Thursday. This was horrible enough without having to feel his bare torso as well.

**_'... until you have nothing left to give... ’_ **

Grimacing, Malcolm used all of his concentration to place his hands against Curtis' face. His fingers moved as if they had weights attached to them. _'She's a fucking bitch, seriously.'_

He wanted to push him away, but Curtis seemed to mistake it for reciprocation. With one clawed hand gripping several tufts of Malcolm’s hair, he forced his tongue through both of their lips.

**_'... stand up for yourself... '_ **

Malcolm almost choked at the intrusion of the slimy appendage. It roved across the interior of his mouth as he shuddered, hands uselessly holding the creature’s face. _‘If you lose a bit of weight, maybe you’ll get somebody too.’_

Curtis groaned, crushing Malcolm against him as he deepened the kiss, oblivious to any distress. More helpless tears spilled from Malcolm’s eyes as his throat tightened further.

**_‘... put an end to it... ’_ **

He wished he could float away, fade away, sink into the ground. But that didn’t happen. _'Don't flatter yourself, fatass.'_

Instead, he remained trapped in the sickening present, hyperaware of the sharp points digging into his scalp and the coarse texture of the lips and the body heat radiating against him and the despair that _he couldn’t move at all._

Why in the world was this happening? What had he done to deserve this?

**_'... take the bone away... '_ **

After an excruciating, _godawful_ eternity of Curtis ravaging his mouth, they finally separated with a wet ' _pop_.’

Curtis nuzzled his nose, cupping his face once more. “You ready to go?”

How did he answer that question? As he stared into Curtis' half-lidded eyes, Malcolm’s mind ran a million miles an hour. There was a part of him—a part that revolted him—which did want to see all the people who had hurt him suffer, to watch them know what it felt like to hate simply existing. And yet... he pictured Bianca's radiant smile in her kitchen, and Brad's concerned voice asking him if he was okay, and heck, even Holly Chesterfield wondering about his weekend, and suddenly he couldn't ever do it, couldn't stand the thought of Curtis' plan. He glanced at the powerful arms of the creature embracing him—oh geez... it would be so easy for Curtis to crush him—

It didn't matter. He had to do something, and it had to be done now. This was his last shot.

Malcolm set his jaw. “After we do this...”

“Uh huh,” Curtis purred, stroking his cheek.

“We'll be the better people, won't we? _Because that's how it works, right_?”

The stroking ceased at the bitter tone. Curtis drew back, gaze hard as iron. “Don't do this, Malcolm.”

“You didn't answer the question,” he retorted. Despite the venom in his words, he couldn't stop shaking as Curtis' nostrils flared and he bared his teeth, those horrifyingly sharp points only a foot away.

“Because you already have an answer in mind, you fucking asshole!”

The next moment, Malcolm found himself no longer wrapped in Curtis' arms. The lack of support caused him to stumble, but he righted his footing. Hair on end, he craned his neck to gaze upward as Curtis resumed his full height, a disturbing amalgamation of human and reptilian parts.

Curtis gritted his teeth, staring off to the side. “I thought, of all people, you'd understand... turns out you're just another disappointment.”

His breathing still shaky, Malcolm pleaded, “Curtis, I really think you need—”

“ _If you tell me to go see a doctor, I swear I will rip your fucking head off!_ ” he roared, thrashing his tail.

The emotional whiplash made Malcolm cower, and he fought off a fresh urge to cry.

Returning his gaze to Malcolm, Curtis glared. “If this is the way you want to be, fine. Don't say I didn't fucking warn you.” That savage grin from earlier returned, and the _monster_ laughed harshly. “Now, _excuse_ me, I've wasted enough time here. I should get going.”

Finished, he twisted away, heading farther into the alley.

Malcolm gasped and took a step after him, some semblance of movement returning to his limbs. “Curtis, don't—”

The tail hit him like a truck. He slammed into the chain-link fence, sliding to the ground. The world spun as lights danced in front of his eyes. He struggled to take a breath, but the wind had been knocked out of him.

“Goodbye, Malcolm,” came Curtis’ faint voice. “Don't follow me unless you change your mind. I hope you enjoy being alone.”

Clutching his side, Malcolm watched in helpless desperation as the monster's form receded into the shadows. He could only sit on the ground, a frigid wind howling past him and taking any last shred of warmth he possessed.


	22. A Royally Awkward Dance

Pop music blared from the speakers around the gym, the bass so prominent Chelsea could almost feel it in her teeth. A Darth Vader cut-out guarded the main entrance while a disco ball twinkled overhead, reflecting the epilepsy-inducing strobe lights, sickly neon lights, and glow-in-the-dark stars and aliens decorating the walls. All together, the stuff made the whole area look like some kind of David Lynch fever dream. In her opinion, it was a _little_ over the top, but then again, when _wasn't_ Homecoming over the top?

Dancing teens in bright dresses and dark suits circled around Chelsea, her white dress almost luminescent in the sporadic flashes of the strobe lights. From her vantage point, she idly stared at the DJ at the far end of the gym, surrounded by students eager to place song requests.

A small smile formed as her eyes passed over the locker room entrance behind the guy—nobody, as of half an hour ago, was allowed back there or in most of the school hallways. Holly, sore loser that she was, had gone back there with her latest boy toy to ‘cheer herself up,’ and it had practically made Chelsea’s day when a furious faculty member dragged the pair out.

She chuckled and returned her attention to the DJ. A brief thought about suggesting something absurd—like polka—flitted through her mind, but before any plan could be finalized, Elijah tugged her back into the throng of flailing bodies.

“Come on, wallflower! We came here to dance!” he shouted.

She laughed at his exuberance and joined hands with him and Toby, making a strange circle that gyrated in time with the music.

They broke hands, and Toby spun her around. As she twirled, Chelsea passed a morose blonde girl standing next to a couple. The slumped posture sent a twinge of sympathy through her. Chelsea didn't know her name, but she looked familiar, possibly a neighbor. In any case, even without knowing her, she could commiserate on being a third wheel. She was lucky that Elijah and Toby were so inclusive.

The girl's unhappy expression also reminded Chelsea of something else. Much to her friends' protests, she excused herself and wandered the dance floor, frowning at the seething mass of bodies—the dark room combined with the chaotic lighting didn't lend itself to visibility. After a few minutes of searching, she finally found the crowned girl in the scarlet dress.

“Hey, bella,” she yelled over the bass, gliding over to the Homecoming Queen. “You having a good time?”

Bianca glanced up at the greeting and then proceeded to grab Chelsea's arm, dragging her away.

“Hey, what are you—”

“I'm sorry, but I HAVE to get away from Warren. He is driving me nuts.”

Chelsea blinked before wincing. “Oh no, is he one of those guys who can't keep their hands to themselves?”  
Bianca shook her head. “Worse. All he wants to do is slow dance. To. Every. Single. Song.”

The deafening music made it difficult for Chelsea to process her friend's words, but once everything clicked, she cackled. “Oh shit, that is awful!”

Her amusement was infectious, and Bianca cracked a smile as she wiped the mirth from her eyes.

Once she finally recovered, she squared her shoulders and fixed Bianca with a somber look. “So I actually came to see how you were doing with being Queen... since you have to dance with... yeah.” Her stomach sank as Bianca lowered her gaze. Rubbing the other girl's arm, she murmured, “I drove here. If you need to escape, I'd be willing to take you ba—”

“I don't know.” Bianca stared off, a conflicted grimace on her face. “I know it would cause rumors—where did I go, what happened—but...” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Lord, it is going to be so awkward!”

Chelsea ran a hand through her hair, then patted Bianca’s shoulder. “Just let me know, okay?”

***

Amber brushed her bangs out of her eyes and hip-checked him. “Hey, they're forming a circle over there. If I request _Despacito_ , will you get in the middle and dance with me?”

Ethan shoved her back playfully. “Hell yeah. Just make sure not to go too crazy; we don't want Mr. Monohan pulling out his grenade. You know what he says about people at dances.”

She grinned at the joke about the ex-veteran Civics teacher and made her way into the crowd, disappearing into the jungle of students.

He watched her for a moment before turning back to rejoin his friend group. When he arrived, he had to suppress a laugh as Tommy attempted to have a conversation about politics with his date, some white girl Ethan didn't know. They could barely hear each other over the music, so in his mind, why bother? And why that topic? They were supposed to be having fun, and a political discussion was the exact opposite of that.

Speaking of the opposite of fun, Adam's date—a girl named Wendy—danced around the uninterested boy, who looked like only his body was at Homecoming, not his mind. After a couple minutes, she sighed and walked over to Ethan.

“This is hopeless,” she yelled. “I feel like I'm trying to dance with a freaking tree.”

He nodded at her and yelled back, “I'll see if I can do something.”

He was pretty sure he had a good idea of the issue, and while he doubted he could actually do anything to resolve it, he could at least try. Besides, Wendy looked annoyed, and Ethan had learned a long time ago not to piss off women.

He went over to Adam and elbowed him in the ribs. “Hey, Earth to Major Tom?”

Adam made a face. “Was that really necessary?”

“Yeah, I wanted to make sure you not comatose.”

The reply earned both an eye roll and an exasperated, “I don't know what I expected.”

To this, Ethan folded his arms. “The dance is more than half over, and you barely danced with Wendy. What’s going on?”

Adam scowled and gestured to the plastic crown on his head. “It's this. That's what's up.”

Still unimpressed, Ethan frowned at the object. “You saying that being King means you have to act like a zombie? Shit, I get the theme is about aliens, but get your brain out of space.”

The comment made Adam look away—had he struck a nerve? The guy started walking off to the side, and he hurriedly followed.

“Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

“Nah dude, it's fine.” Adam sighed again, curling and uncurling his fist. “At some point tonight, Symcox will announce the Annual Dance between the King and Queen. It will be the first time in a couple of weeks that I'll have any real interaction with Bianca, and I just... I can't stop thinking about it. I can't help hoping that maybe we can talk things over afterward.”

Ethan cringed. “This is what's going on?”

“Yeah...” Adam replied, accompanied by a hung head.

“Well... I wish you all the best, man.”

He blinked, whirling to face Ethan’s encouraging smile.

Truthfully, Ethan didn't think it was a good idea to try to talk things over tonight—they were at Homecoming. It was loud, crowded... probably the worst conditions to have a serious discussion. But with the earlier secrecy debacle and him ragging on Adam, he figured the guy deserved a break.

Besides, there was no way he would actually go through with it, right?

A small smile appeared on Adam’s face as he chuckled. “You're not going to get onto me for freaking out about this?”

Ethan punched him in the shoulder. “No, you do you. Though I am going to kick your ass if you keep ignoring Wendy. You asked her, so give her a good time. Right now you being kind of shitty.”

“All right, all right.”

Ethan clapped him on the back, and they made their way back over, the music pulsing all around them.

***

After Bianca refused her offer, they parted ways and Chelsea found her group of friends. Still fretting, she kept one eye out for the girl and winced as Warren Veatch pulled her into yet another slow dance.

Someone shaking her shoulder tore her attention away. “Look, Principal Symcox is getting on the stage!” her friend gasped. “He's going to announce the Class Winner!”

Chelsea pushed the hand away, trembling from the stimulation. She really wished Janie would remember not to shake her. In any case, it was too loud to reprimand; and besides, she was interested in hearing which class won—along with observing a certain Queen's reaction to an annual tradition.

Turning her head toward the center of the room, she folded her arms as the balding man ascended the stairs on the makeshift stage. Once situated, the principal cleared his throat into the microphone, and the booming music and voices came to a halt.

Smiling, he waved at the crowd. “Hey, everybody, I know we're all having a good time, but I promise I won't keep you too long. I'm sure all of you are dying to know which class will win our cool prize! So without further ado, the class that bought the most Homecoming merchandise this year is... the sophomores!”

A raucous cheer went up, and Elijah scowled. “What the hell! I thought we were doing great!”

Toby rubbed his back while he folded his arms.

“This is stupid,” he pouted. “Didn’t Brad say it was going to be rigged? How did we lose?”

With a loud shush, Chelsea ended his complaining.

Back at the stage, Principal Symcox smiled appreciatively at the applause. “All right, settle down, settle down. Though I will say, congratulations on winning. At some point this year, the entire sophomore class will be treated to a pizza party during lunch! Possible dates will be announced this upcoming week.”

A few more ' _whoops_ ' went up around the room, and Symcox gestured for everyone to be quiet again.

“And now, it's time for the Wesley High Annual Tradition... please welcome our distinguished Homecoming King and Queen, Adam McCollum and Bianca Torres, to the stage for the Royal Dance!”

Enthusiastic screams and clapping sounded across the room, with a few students even chanting the names of the Homecoming Royals. Chelsea bit her lip, eyes scanning over Bianca's posture and expression as she made her way to the stage. When she arrived, she gave a small smile and took her place next to Adam, who gave a genuine grin in her direction.

 _He's so sincere about the whole thing, but she just doesn't want to deal with it._ Chelsea sighed as the boy grasped Bianca's hand in his, resting the other on her waist in a gentlemanly fashion.

The music started up, and the couple swayed stiffly to the rhythm—Chelsea couldn’t help but internally shrivel at the tension. Neither one followed their partner’s motions, and Adam winced a couple times as Bianca stepped on his foot. When the last notes faded out, they waved at the crowd—who cheered once more—before shuffling off the stage together.

***

 _Well, that was hella awkward_. Ethan frowned at the dancing pair. A sigh came from behind him, and he turned to face Tommy as he shook his head.

“Man,” Tommy said, “it just sucks they have to do that after everything that's happened. You would think there would be a loophole or something to let them get out of it.”

Ethan shrugged, and Tommy's face morphed into a mask of anxiety, pointing toward the edge of the room. “Aw crap, he’s going for it. He’s freaking going for it.”

Shifting to see what he meant, Ethan scowled at the sight.

Apparently, Adam actually had pulled Bianca off to the side, most likely to talk about the future of their relationship. It was going about as well as anyone would expect. Even from a distance and with the poor lighting, Bianca’s pursed lips and flashing eyes were apparent. She kept shaking her head while Adam gestured at her, and both of them looked like they were getting worked up. How long before it went supernova?

 _Fuck me._ A dull ache in Ethan’s jaw forced him to unclench his teeth. This was what he got for not calling shit out. Next time, guilt be damned, he’d make sure to tell Adam he was being fucking ridiculous.

From Ethan’s side, Tommy asked, “Should we go over there or...?”

He deliberated for a moment, when a skinny girl with a vibrant streak in her hair rushed over to the couple. She folded her arms, glaring at Adam. Bianca appeared relieved for the support, and a second later, the two girls started ganging up on the guy.

Ethan cringed. “I think I'll head over.”

“You think I should go too? Maybe try and be Switzerland or something?”

Ethan once again deliberated. Normally, he would have had Tommy go with him. He wasn't exactly a pro at dealing with feelings, especially heightened emotions like in this instance. But just as he was about to reply, _Despacit_ o started playing.

A pang of guilt went through him—if he went over, he would leave Amber high and dry. Still, he wanted to be there for Adam. As great as Tommy was, he wasn’t quite as close to the situation. Perhaps if he stayed behind, he could entertain Amber while Ethan went to Adam's aid.

“Nah, stay here. Too many people and we'll cause a scene. Also, tell Amber what's up,” he finally said.

Tommy nodded at the instructions as Ethan hurried over to join Adam's side, putting on his business face.

_The shit I put myself through..._


	23. What's Your Emergency?

He wasn't sure how long he sat there wheezing. The spots eventually faded from his vision and he managed to catch a breath, gasping as his delighted lungs received valuable oxygen once more. Malcolm felt dizzy and nauseated and pretty terrible overall, but upon reaching equilibrium, he shot to his feet. _I have to stop Curtis._

He had never ran back to the house as fast as he did in that moment, slamming the door after he entered.

Dad came over and grinned. “Wow, you took a while out there. I was starting to wonder if you'd run away or something.” His smile faded at the expression on Malcolm’s face. “Hey, are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Fine,” he lied and hurried over to the stairs, ignoring Dad’s befuddled glance. Taking the steps two at a time, he then rushed into his room and grabbed his phone off his bed, quickly dialing 911.

The line rang and a female operator responded, “911, what's your emergency?”

“Someone is going to attack the school tonight,” he blurted out.

There was a moment of silence from the other line. Slowly, the operator said, “Did you receive a threat?”

“Yes. Someone told me they had plans to attack the Homecoming Dance. You need to evacuate the school as soon as possible. It can't wait,” Malcolm rambled, pulse racing.

“All right, sir, do you know the method of attack? Do they have a gun or a bomb or some other weapon?”

He gritted his teeth. Did she not hear him when he said it was an emergency? “No, they don't have a weapon. It's... I don't know how to describe it. They have claws and teeth and... they're just really big! Like a lizard or something!”

There was another pause, then the operator stated in an icy tone, “Sir, you do realize it is against the law to make fake 911 calls?”

“What!? No, I'm not kidd—”

It was too late. The line went dead, and Malcolm cursed his own lack of foresight. Of course no one would believe him when he said it was a monster. Now they wouldn't answer his number again, and it was due to his own stupidity.

He took a deep breath and pulled up the school's website, dialing the number for the front office. As it rang, he drummed his fingers nervously on his desk, then let out a groan of disappointment as the automated message started. Everyone was probably watching the dance. There wasn't anyone in the front office.

A pit formed in his stomach as he hung up, and he squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating with all his might to not hyperventilate. _What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? I can't get anyone to listen to me._ It didn't help when Curtis' words from Thursday—“ ** _I was kind of hoping the fucker died_** ”—crawled through his mind, and he had to suppress a sob. Digging his nails into his palm, he forced himself to control his breathing, then wiped his eyes.

There was only one thing to do—he had to warn them himself.

A moment later, he was back downstairs and rummaging through Mom's purse for her keys.

From his right came a puzzled, “Malcolm, what in the world are you doing?” and he whipped around to face her.

“I need the keys to the car. I need to head out. Right now.”

The response only made her look more confused. “Sweetie, what's going on? You look terrified.”

“It can't wait, Mom! I need to go!” He was close to tears. They started to form, but he held them back and managed to feel the metallic object, pulling it out of the bag and turning toward the door.

Mom cried out, “ _Malcolm!_ ” behind him, but he didn't pay her any heed. He raced out to the car, then started the engine as soon as his butt touched the seat. When he moved away from the house, his hands almost slipped on the steering wheel, sweaty from nerves. He already didn't consider himself a great driver, and now in his panic, everything seemed ten times as hard.

He took the turn at the end of the street at a breakneck speed, the world whizzing by. A minute later, he gasped and slammed on the brakes. The vehicle slowed as a cop car came into view. Everything seemed muted, Malcolm praying with all his might that the car wouldn't start its sirens, that he wouldn't get pulled over.

When it didn't move from its spot, he nearly cried out of gratitude. That would have been the last thing he needed right now.

Soon, he arrived at Wesley High and parked the red hatchback, not even bothering to lock it in his haste. He slammed the door and stopped. _You could have talked with the officer in that car._

God, he was such an idiot! He cursed himself as he ran across the parking lot toward the building, the ground reverberating from the bass of whatever song currently played. Too late to go back now. Besides, who knew if the officer would have listened to somebody like him? The only good news right now was the music—if they were still dancing, then he must have beat Curtis.

It took him a moment to orient himself in the dark hallway when he entered. Everything looked so strange without the fluorescent lights, but he followed the booming pop song and eventually made his way toward the gym.

Relief welled up at a faculty member standing just outside of the doors. He opened his mouth to talk, but she barked out some reprimand before he had a chance, then shoved him inside without another word. When he turned around, the doors were already shut.

Shielding his eyes at the pulse of the strobe lights, he forced himself to return his gaze to the room, immediately overwhelmed: the lights, the deafening music, the sea of shifting bodies—how in the world could he deliver a message in this chaos?

He hesitated in all the confusion. Squaring his shoulders, he approached the nearest pair of dancers, who were busy grinding on each other.

“Hey, excuse me!” he called. Neither one acknowledged him, and he tried again: “I need to make an announcement, where would I do that?”

The guy shoved him away, and he blinked, stupefied. _Well, that was rude._

He went over to a less occupied pair to ask the same question, but they just stared at him quizzically—he probably looked pretty odd in his jeans and T-shirt while everyone else wore dresses and suits.

When they walked away without giving an answer, he took a deep breath, his desperation growing. Curtis could be here at any moment. He needed to get everyone out.

He wandered around the edge of the dance floor, cringing at the flashing lights, trying to make out any chaperones or other faculty with whom he could possibly talk. Four arguing students distracted him, and he stopped to stare—what was that commotion about?

It took a moment before he recognized one of them as Bianca. Bianca! She would surely listen to him!

After racing over, he grabbed her hand. “Bianca! I need to make an announcement! Where do I go?”

She jumped and whirled to face him, eyes widening. “Malcolm?”

“Okay, now who the hell is this guy?”

He turned and blinked at one of the boys, who scowled while gesturing. The dark-haired guy next to him tried to placate him, and Malcolm’s heart skipped a beat—oh God, it was Adam.

The first boy only continued to scowl. “Nah, we in the middle of something. He can freaking wait.”

“No, I can't!” Malcolm yelled, and the guy looked a little taken aback.

“Who the hell you think you ar—”

“You're all in serious danger, and you need to listen to me!”

The outburst made the boy flap his mouth uselessly, and even Adam, Bianca, and the other girl with them gaped at Malcolm.

“We're in what?” the girl Malcolm didn't know asked.

He couldn't respond, his panic only escalating at actually admitting it aloud. Clutching his pants to prevent hyperventilating, he only loosened his grip when Bianca placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Malcolm,” she said just loud enough to hear over the music, “tell me what's going on.”

He looked up at her concerned face, his mouth dry. He had all four individuals' attention and, of course, his stage fright decided to rear its head. Licking his lips, he shoved his fear inside of him. This was now or never.

“Do you remember when you asked me your question on Thursday about someone who used to be a lot shorter, and I said it was a long story?”

She furrowed her brow before the pieces apparently fell into place, and she nodded.

“Well, now I am telling you the short answer, which is he wants to hurt everyone here, and we need to get the heck out.”

“What!? Who!?” the other girl shrieked.

Bianca looked stricken as well. “How do you know this?”

“There's no time for that,” he insisted. “Is there any way I can make an announce—”

The music cut out sharply, and a few horrified screams sounded around them, raising the hair on his arms and filling his veins with ice water.

His stomach sank like a stone as the boy next to Adam widened his eyes. But despite the dread that welled up at the expression, it was the next comment out of the guy’s mouth that made his heart almost stop.

“ _What the fuck is that thing?_ ”


	24. Happy Homecoming, Everybody!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where that graphic violence warning comes in lol

Malcolm turned around and took a step back as the terrified students dispersed. Their flight opened up a gap in the crowd, revealing the DJ table at the far end of the gym. And there, standing next to the cowering DJ... was the monstrous figure of Curtis.

In a pseudo-crouch concealing his height, he snarled and leered at nearby dancers, the neon and flashing lights giving him an otherworldly appearance. Suddenly, he stopped and began laughing. “Nah, just kidding. But could you imagine?”

The brief pandemonium alerted everyone in the room. People stopped to face the source, most giving him their undivided attention, a few even chuckling nervously at the sight.

Curtis gave his signature impressive grin and called out, “Hey, everybody, are you having a good time?”

There was a brief pause before everyone responded, “ _Yeah!_ ”

Curtis nodded approvingly. “That's great!” He placed his clawed hand on his chest. “As your Homecoming Monster, I'm glad to hear that!”

More people laughed at this, with students murmuring to each other, seemingly amused at the bizarre display. A groan came from behind Malcolm, and he turned to where the girl next to Bianca shook her head.

“Holy shit, Elijah was right,” she muttered.

Bianca cocked her head. “Huh?”

“He thought that Curtis guy was going to pull a prank or something today. We made a bet on it, and now I owe him twenty dollars.”

Malcolm gaped at her while Adam laughed.

“Oh, I get it now!” He elbowed Malcolm playfully. “You were setting everything up for him. Well, you did great! Really had us going there!” He laughed again. “Man, this guy is crazier than I thought. Where the hell is he going with this?”

Malcolm could only sputter, “No... it isn't... please... don't...” but no one was paying attention to him anymore. Trying to fight off a panic attack, he dug his nails into his palm.

Bianca scowled. “This is weird. How did he get back there? And what’s with the costume?”

The girl next to her shrugged in response. “The locker rooms lead outside. He must have planned to sneak in and change.” She narrowed her eyes. “I wonder how he got the tail to move?”

 _Oh God, they think this is a joke, but it's not! What do I do?_  A wave of nausea passed over Malcolm, and he squeezed his eyes shut to stop from vomiting.  _Calm down. You need to think._

He reopened them to find Curtis had moved from the DJ table toward the center of the room, where he ascended a makeshift stage. Malcolm's stomach sank further at the sight; in his haste to tell someone his message, he had missed the perfect place to deliver it!

Curtis grabbed the microphone and waved cheerily, still maintaining his strange stance to hide his size. “Now I know everyone wants to dance, but as your Homecoming Monster, I do have a few words I'd like to share. Does that sound okay to everyone?”

There was a murmur through the crowd, and he grinned.

“Perfect! First things first, who are our King and Queen tonight? Anyone?”

To Malcolm's horror, Adam raised his hand. “Um, over here. King and”—he pointed to Bianca—“Queen.”

Curtis smiled. “Well, you both look great. Kind of guessed it would be you two.”

His gaze met Malcolm's as he spoke to Adam and Bianca. Almost imperceptibly, surprise flitted across his face before his grin returned, though this time salacious in nature.

It made Malcolm want to squirm.

“Well, now that we have that out of the way, I'll get to the point.” Giving a sweeping gesture, he stated, “I know we're all having a good time, but it's important to be mindful of your actions tonight. Watch out for each other at any after-parties... or I'll get ya!”

A bubble of laughter wafted out from the crowd, a few people even yelling out random phrases.

Curtis waited for it to quiet down and then snorted. “Actually, I don't really care about any of that stuff. I know all of you are going to do dumb shit regardless of what I say, so why bother? Maybe a demonstration will work better, huh?”

Still panicking, Malcolm pivoted to where a couple of faculty members conversed with one another. They appeared confused and kept glancing at the Curtis creature on the stage, but neither seemed in a hurry to end anything. If anything, they looked ready to sit back and let the bizarre show unfold, which only exacerbated Malcolm’s distress. He’d need to be convincing if he wanted help.

Taking a deep breath, he faced the stage again as Curtis called out, “I'll need a volunteer for my demonstration. Is Joel Scalf here tonight?”

The words cut through him like a knife.  _Oh no._

Shifting, the crowd peered around for Joel before a voice yelled, “Here he is!”

Malcolm craned his neck to see Parker shoving an irritated Joel forward, the boy reluctant to make his way to the monster. Curtis grinned at the sight and then scampered off the stage, heading toward the two.

Students gasped as the monster approached, some recoiling while others marveled at the strange gait and design. A girl, probably a freshman judging by her size, reached out and touched Curtis' tail. She squeaked after her hand made contact and then yanked it back, eliciting from Curtis both a smile and a barely audible, “ _Please don’t touch_.”

Shoving Joel forward again, Parker laughed at the Curtis-creature and said something Malcolm couldn't make out. Curtis only seemed to grin wider at it though, and Joel hissed out what was presumably a retort. Rolling his eyes, Parker shoved Joel for a third time, thus forcing him to be herded to the stage by the enormous Curtis.

Once the two of them were situated, Malcolm winced. A strobe light fully illuminated Joel's face, revealing a myriad of bruises and scabs—the guy looked  _terrible_.

Curtis seemed oblivious to his downtrodden status. He clapped him on the shoulder before returning his gaze to the audience. “Now that we got our volunteer here, I can continue.”

A few people laughed as Joel attempted to push Curtis' clawed hand off him. The monster ignored his struggles.

Mind racing, Malcolm glanced around the room. Where had those faculty members gone? They had been his best bet before they disappeared. Since Curtis knew he was here, if he made a scene, it might make things worse and prompt Curtis to start attacking everyone. However, doing nothing wasn't an option either.

 _Pull the fire alarm_. He straightened. Yes, that's what he had to do. Hopefully, Curtis would choose to vacate with the rest of them rather than risk an actual fire. Now the problem was, where the heck was it!?

He inched away from Bianca and her friends—still captivated by the spectacle—and pressed against the wall, feeling his way along in the dim light.

Curtis' voice sang out, “Now Joel here is an example of everything that's wrong with high school. He's an absolute douche and treats everyone terribly, but he gets away with it by being a good swimmer and having access to a shitload of weed. You can admit it, that's why you guys put up with him.”

The crowd laughed. Malcolm just kept creeping along the dark wall, searching for the alarm.

“But I want to let all of you know—that kind of stuff isn't going to be tolerated anymore. I'm sure you're all sick of speeches saying ' _Homecoming is the time when everyone comes together,_ ' but I really want to give a message that will stick in everyone's brains. Let everyone know you HAVE to actually put forth effort to not be so fucking terrible anymore.”

Curtis paused for air, and a few people gave each other bewildered looks.

Glancing back at the stage, Malcolm tugged at some random panel as Curtis smiled condescendingly down at the wide-eyed form of Joel.

“Now, Joel, as our volunteer, why don't you tell the nice people about some of the awful shit you did to me over the years? Give us some examples of behavior we want to avoid in the future.”

He grinned wider while Malcolm’s breath hitched in his throat. He froze, feet unable to budge despite his brain’s frantic pleas.

Joel stared out into the crowd, his gaze a pitiful cry for help. Curtis tightened his clawed grip on the boy's shoulder, and he flinched. “Well... uh... I guess... I made fun of you... a lot... sorry...”

Cocking his head, Curtis cooed, “You can be more specific.”

He swallowed. “Um... I... uh... beat you up... a couple times...”

“More,” Curtis practically sang, the claws now digging into Joel's suit.

“Uh... uh...” Joel stammered, and several individuals started to shift in distress. Even the students who had looked amused before were starting to avert their eyes.

“Here, why don't I jog your memory? How about that time in seventh grade when you made me eat all the old gum stuck on the side of the end locker?” Curtis prompted, and several disgusted groans sounded from the crowd.

The flash of a strobe light revealed visible sweat on Joel's battered face. “Oh... did I do that? Uh... that's messed up... sorry—”

“Now you come up with something!” he interrupted as Joel wiped his forehead.

“Well... um... I remember stealing your backpack for an afternoon in sophomore year. That... wasn't very cool of me.”

“No, it wasn't,” Curtis simpered. “But I'm looking for more extreme examples. How about when you stole my coat in the middle of winter freshman year and stomped on it in a muddy puddle?” He laughed harshly as Joel winced. “Boy, that was a fucking terrible walk home. Then my mom screamed at me for over an hour because of it.”

Urging his feet to move, Malcolm wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. The crowd reflected his anxiety. People now fidgeted and whispered to each other, most looking somewhat perturbed. Gritting his teeth, he continued inching along the wall.  _Come on..._

 _“_ Look,” Joel pleaded, “I'm really sorry. I don't know what you want me to do. I-I'll admit it, I can be a huge jerk, but like—”

“I want you to actually have to face repercussions, Joel,” Curtis hissed. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “One more and then I'll stop, how about that?”

Joel gulped and nodded.

“All right, tell everybody about that time in fourth grade. You know, with the hat and the backyard? I know you remember it.”

Even with the dim lighting and Joel's bruising, the color draining from his face was apparent. “I... I don't know what you me—”

“ _Yes, you fucking do!_ ” Curtis roared, thrashing his tail as Joel cowered.

The crowd parted to let Principal Symcox wade toward the stage while Malcolm snapped back to his task, awkwardly running his hands along the wall.  _Why does it have to be so freaking dark!?_

 _“_ Let's begin, shall we?” Curtis quipped, indifferent as the microphone cut out. He raised his voice: “I was walking home from school. It was warm, right before summer. We ran into each other, and you started taunting me, so I made up some stupid come-back—don't even remember what at this point—and you got mad. So to retaliate, you stole my hat and threw it in the nearest backyard.”

Joel swallowed. “Look—”

“You took it, even though I screamed that my Grandma gave it to me, and threw it in there, just because you could. And then, desperate, I wanted to go knock on the door and ask whoever lived there if I could go get it. But you wouldn't let me do that, would you? You blocked the way, said that if I  _really_ wanted it back I had to climb into the backyard.”

He visibly trembled now. “Please, Curtis—”

“And I remember pointing out that there was a ' _Beware of Dog_ ' sign on the fence, and what did you say?”

“Uh... uh...”

“You said, ' _Oh, those signs are just for show. Come on, you chicken. You want your hat back or not?_ '” Curtis had bared his teeth at this point while Joel looked close to tears.

Over with the faculty, Principal Symcox got stuck behind a large throng. Malcolm mentally cheered him on, still trying to complete his own mission.

Back at the stage, Curtis snarled, “So I climbed over the fence like you told me, just to get my hat back, and then what happened?”

Shaking, he murmured, “Then there was a dog...”

“Yeah, there was!  _What happened next!?_ ”

“Then... I—oh God, I didn't mean for—”

“Then I wanted to leave, didn't I!?” Curtis shrieked, grabbing Joel roughly. “And you yelled back, ‘ _It's probably all bark and no bite. Get your hat, pussy!'_ So I ran for the hat.  _And then what happened!?_ ”

Beginning to sob, Joel blurted out, “I'm sorry! I didn't know that dog was so fucking mean, I swear!”

At his tears, the crowd’s whispering had turned to full-on murmurs of concern. Several people exchanged looks of disturbed disbelief while others stared ahead in horrified fascination.

Malcolm glanced over to evaluate the principal's progress and was both relieved and discouraged that Symcox was almost at the stage, but not quite.  _Move a little faster..._

As Joel cried, Curtis smiled contemptuously and patted his shoulder. “There, there. But the story isn't over yet, Joel.  _What happened next?_ ”

“Then I ran,” he wailed. “I couldn't handle it, so I fucking ran.  _Are you happy now!?_ I was a piece of shit coward, but I didn't mean for it to happen!”

“But you came to visit me, didn't you? In the hospital, after I left the ICU. What were your words again?”

“I said that if you didn't tell anybody it was me that I wouldn't pick on you anymore! And I know that—”

“And I kept my part of the deal,  _didn't I!?_ ” Curtis snarled. “But wait a moment! That was in fourth grade, and we were just mentioning incidents after that. So what happened?”

“All the other guys kept asking me why we weren't messing with you anymore, and I fucking caved!” 

Malcolm gaped at him while Curtis grinned sadistically.

“I just wanted them to stop bugging me!” Joel cried. “I'm so fucking sorry, I know I shouldn't have done that stuff to you, but I… I just… didn’t think about it. My dad... he... he’s awful to me and my sister... and other stuff...”

“ _Aw, that's so fucking sad,_ ” Curtis taunted. “Did he ever touch you?”

“Sometimes!” he wailed, and Principal Symcox marched over to the pair, livid.

“All right, that is enough!” he exclaimed while Joel sobbed. “I let you have the benefit of the doubt, but now you need to leave. Get off the stage. Besides,” he glanced at Curtis askance, “aren't you suspended? You shouldn't even be here.”

“ _I'm not finished yet,_ ” he hissed, and Principal Symcox folded his arms.

“Yes, you ARE! Now, come with me. I'll call your par— _oomph!_ ”

Whipping his tail around, Curtis struck the principal in the gut and sent him flying a good several feet before turning back to face the open-mouthed Joel.

Away from the stage, a ripple of unease went through the crowd. Malcolm could tell people, though already disturbed, were examining the scenario from a new perspective. In the strange lighting, it had been easy to believe Curtis was just wearing a costume, but the force of the blow was significant, especially for a fake appendage. Even then, it was one thing for a fellow student to be in on a prank, another entirely for the principal.

“All right, apparently we have to wrap this thing up!” Curtis snarled at the frozen form of Joel while the disoriented principal wheezed on the floor a few feet away. “Any last words?”

The question brought Joel back to the present. He whimpered, “I'm really sorry... I won't do anything else to you from now on, I swear!”

Curtis nodded. “No... you won't.”

With one swift movement, he tore his claws into Joel's abdomen and ripped upward, spilling the boy's guts onto the floor. Joel cried out and grasped desperately at the spurt of blood and organs, but he might as well have been trying to prevent a flood for all of his efforts.

People screamed around the room. Obscenities went up. Malcolm even made out a faculty member yelling—“ _Christ on a cracker!”—_ while he could only stare, too stunned to react.

Someone forcefully shook his shoulder, and he turned toward a ghost-white Adam, who shouted, “ _What kind of prank is this!?_ ”

“It isn't,” he murmured, tears rolling down his face. “That's why I was trying to warn you!”

Adam's eyes widened while Bianca and the two other students with her exchanged looks of horrified shock. Adam breathed, “So... that thing... is...?”

“Yes!” Malcolm shrieked, now full-out sobbing.

From the stage, a sadistic laugh echoed over the room as Curtis grinned. Hurling the disemboweled Joel into the hysterical audience, he called out, “ _Happy Homecoming, everybody!_ ” and then leaped into the crowd.


	25. Panic! (Quite Literally) At the Disco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence. It's like Carrie, if Carrie had lizard monsters.

A ' _THUD_ ' reverberated around the room as Curtis landed. The action seemed to flip a switch, and everyone took off. People shrieked. They pushed. They shoved. All in some attempt to get away.

None of this fazed Curtis. After stretching to his full height, he roared before charging through the frightened students. A moment later, he dragged Parker away from the throng. The boy screamed as Curtis tore him to shreds, splattering him all over the floor.

Nausea seized Malcolm. He twisted his head away from the spectacle and shut his eyes, the urge to vomit stronger than ever.

He barely registered the others yelling something before someone grabbed his hand, dragging him off. Stumbling, he opened his eyes to find Adam as the culprit. The athletic boy raced through the room while Malcolm tried not to fall. To their side, Adam's friend kept screaming something, and Adam also grabbed his arm as they neared one of the side entrances.

Others had the same idea, and a large crowd surrounded them as they rushed to leave the room. Some boy pushed with all his might against the door and screamed, “It's stuck! I can't open it!” Several other students went to assist him and all came to the same conclusion—the door had been blocked off by something on the other side.

“Holy shit!” the girl next to Bianca cried. “We're stuck in here!”

Terrified shrieks echoed across the room at the revelation, but not loud enough to drown out Curtis’ bellow of, “Courtney Scalf! Where the fuck are you!?”

Malcolm couldn't stop shaking, and even over the din, a sudden screech cut through.

Surveying the room, Adam spun around, sending Malcolm flying to the left. To his horror, the new direction gave him the perfect line of sight to Curtis' jaws clamped around Courtney's neck. He gaped as she flailed in her final throes of life, the neon and flashing lights only adding to the macabre nature of the display.

He lost his view when Adam's friend shoved the other boy in the back. “Fuck! Oh my God! Is there another door? Find another door, oh shit!”

Adam nodded as he grabbed his friend's arm again. Running toward their new destination, he called out, “Come on, Ethan!” as Malcolm trailed behind.

This door proved to be blocked as well, with some students ramming into it, others kicking and shoving to no avail. As the impossibility of success sank in, many backed away, sending ripples of distress through the crowd.

A few people ran off to find another exit. Malcolm’s group did not. They stood around in uncertainty, their petrified expressions identical to each other.

“What do we do?” Bianca whimpered. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she made no move to wipe them off.

Instead, she and the others glanced at the monster still running amok, who had pinned a faculty member to the floor to slash him repeatedly. Over the man’s bloodcurdling cries, Curtis screamed, “ _Just ignore it and he’ll go away! Isn’t that the shit you always told me instead of getting off your fat ass!?_ ”

Shuddering, Bianca turned away before crying out, “Chelsea! Where's Chelsea!?”

She frantically scanned from side to side until the other girl showed up, a phone pressed against her ear. Chelsea's eyes were wide and her eyeliner runny from crying, but she let out a gasp of gratitude a moment later.

“We're in the gymnasium of Wesley High. There's a... a... an animal or something attacking people. We need help immediately!” She nodded while the others watched her, then tearfully thanked the operator. Hanging up, she addressed everyone to tell them police were on their way.

Ethan stammered out, “Okay... that's fucking great, but... what do we do in the meantime!?”

With pursed lips, Adam pointed toward the DJ table at the far end of the gym. “He came in through there. We should be able to get out!”

Again, a large throng of people rushed toward a potential exit—the doorway that led into the locker rooms.

When they reached it, a few people cried out in dismay. One of the bars from a weight set had been twisted around the metal push bars of the double door to prevent it from opening. Ethan ran up and tugged on the object, but he couldn't get it to budge. A broad-shouldered boy with short, black hair also tried at the same time—Ethan yelling, “On the count of three, Tommy, pull!”—but even their combined efforts yielded no results.

They stopped trying as a couple of freshman girls shrieked, “He's coming over here!” At that, the group stampeded to get as far away from the area as possible.

Some panicked individual shoved Malcolm, and he lost his grip on Adam's hand and crashed to the floor. A second later, a stray foot kicked him in the side. Closing his eyes, he curled into a ball and shielded his head, flinching as another shoe connected with his body.

Someone scooped him up, and he opened his eyes, expecting to see Adam. Instead, the blood froze in his veins as Curtis' demented face stared back. He wanted to scream, but his voice died in his throat.

_So this is how I die._

Curtis grinned down at him, the lower half of his face caked in blood. “Hey, buddy,” he cooed. “Glad to see you here. Hope you're having a good time.” He patted Malcolm's head a couple of times like a puppy, then tore off in the opposite direction to find more hapless prey, leaving Malcolm dumbfounded in his wake.

Breathing heavily, Malcolm took a moment to register the bloody stains now covering his clothing. It took him another to realize Adam was shaking his shoulder. “Huh?” He turned to face the guy.

“I said, are you all right!? Jesus, he was right by you!”

Malcolm just stared, and Adam grabbed his hand, once more pulling him along.

“Come on, we can't stay here!”

It took all of his willpower not to fall again as Curtis roared yet another name. Adam slowed to a stop next to a crowd of students, where they watched in petrified shock as Curtis cornered a group on the other side of the gym. He snapped at them while they swarmed to get in the center, away from the horrible teeth.

“Where's Lindsay Byer?” Curtis snarled.

A voice sobbed out, “She didn't come. She's sick.”

“Who the fuck said that!?” Curtis' tail thrashed, and several screams went up at the question.

“She did!” a girl cried, shoving a shrieking girl toward Curtis. “It was her, she was the one who said that!”

The sobbing girl collapsed in a heap in front of the monster and covered her face in preparation for a strike. However, it didn't come; Curtis wasn't looking at her.

Instead, his eyes remained glued to the girl who had shoved her, his tail twitching. “What a shitty thing to do!” he roared and snatched her up, biting into her midsection.

The girl in front of him only screamed louder as blood rained down on her.

Once finished with the sell-out, Curtis tossed the body aside and snarled down at the cowering figure, “Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes, I swear! She isn't here!” The girl prostrated herself before him, and he nodded, leaving her be to head in another direction.

Around him, Malcolm's group gave horrified gasps as Curtis glanced their way, most of the students either mute from shock or sobbing. A few breathed sighs of relief when Curtis chased someone else instead. He quickly caught the guy and ripped into him.

Tommy turned away from the carnage, his face a mask of terrified disgust. “Somebody has to do something. We can't just sit by.”

“What the hell can we do?” Adam exclaimed. “There's nothing here to fight with, and that thing is fucking huge!”

Tommy just shook his head, teeth clenched. “Doesn't matter. I'm not going to sit here any longer!” He then screamed, charging toward Curtis while the group shrieked at him to come back.

In spite of the noise, the monster paid no attention to the advancing combatant. He was too busy eating his current victim. So when the boy full-on body slammed him, the force knocked the chunk of flesh right out of his mouth.

“Tommy!” Ethan screamed as the two tumbled to the floor. “What the fuck, Tommy!”

Contrary to Ethan’s panic, Malcolm’s mouth hung open in admiration. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Because to him, it looked like Tommy  _actually_ stood a chance.

He grappled with the beast, arms wrapped around the thick neck. As he squeezed with all his might, the chokehold elicited a strange, honking cry from Curtis. To this, Tommy kneed him in the back, knocking him to the floor yet again. With a snarl, Curtis rolled over, but the boy didn’t let up. On top of his experience, he was clearly strong and determined.

Unfortunately, Curtis was just too big. Had they been in the same weight class, Malcolm had no doubt Tommy would have won.

But they weren't.

The group screamed again as Curtis gained the upper hand. A horrifying cracking noise echoed around the room, and Tommy shrieked in agony as the monster ripped one of his arms off. Another cry of pain sounded, and then Curtis finished him off, the already blood-soaked floor seeing a fresh wave of scarlet.

A couple of the people in the crowd vomited, and Malcolm nearly joined them. Nothing seemed real right now. A part of him kept waiting to wake up, for this nightmarish world of blood and flashing lights to fade away to the familiar sight of his room.

But he didn't wake up. This wasn't a dream. People were dying around him and Curtis actually was a monster. One of his classmates had just died a hero, and Malcolm was still a coward.

Once content with his kill, Curtis reared up, scanning the room. “Holly Chesterfield!” he bellowed.

A sob from behind Malcolm made him turn to the aforementioned girl, her eyes wide as saucers. “Oh God, that's me,” she whimpered.

Malcolm could only gape at her, his stomach doing somersaults.

The crowd of students around him all seemed to have different reactions. A few girls around Holly all gathered closer to hide her, whereas other students had a different idea.

“No fucking way am I dying for this bitch!” a guy hissed, and a few other students joined their voices in agreement.

Bianca attempted to soothe Holly, who had shut her eyes, her lips moving in silent prayer. Glancing back at Curtis, Malcolm whimpered, bile rising in his throat as the monster moved closer to the crowd.

“The police should be here any moment,” Adam murmured. He clenched his jaw, eyes filling with determination. “Look, let's just all stay together. Move closer to the DJ table. We can hide Holly there, maybe use some of the equipment as a weapo—”

“No! If you want to die for her, be my guest, but not me!” a girl snarled. Several students rushed away as Curtis drew ever closer, and instead of looking dejected, Adam only seemed even more committed.

“Everybody stay close!” he called out as they shuffled closer to the DJ table.

Moving along with them, Malcolm tried to swallow the bile in his throat, but it did nothing.  _You should be dead instead of them_ , a voice hissed, and tears rolled down his cheeks. He was the one who had spilled the formula. He was the one who had failed to warn everyone in time.

He wiped his palms on his pants.  _I have to confront Curtis. Maybe I can buy enough time for the police to get here—_

Holly’s exclamation snapped him out of his thoughts. “Stop it! All of you! I won't let you do this!”

His mouth dropped open as she ducked away from her protectors and streaked across the gym, shrieking, “Come and get me, you ugly son of a bitch!”

The group screamed at her to come back, but just as with Tommy, no one made any move to chase her. Instead, they stared open-mouthed as Curtis roared. He lunged after her, leaving the rest of the students in the gym to clear out of his way.

Malcolm stood frozen to the spot as Curtis caught up to Holly. Once again, he was forced to watch another classmate become a victim. Even though she struggled fiercely, she was no match for the monster, and soon, another pool of blood flowed onto the gym floor.

Perhaps it was the selflessness of Holly's actions after Tommy's heroism, perhaps it was just seeing yet another body added to the total count, but whatever it was, it was finally enough to cause Malcolm to vomit. He bent over and clutched his midsection, heaving even after his stomach had nothing left.

“Where the hell are the police!?” someone sobbed, and as if on cue, the main entrance to the gym burst open and officers ran into the room.

For just a moment, the cops gaped in stunned horror at the massive form of Curtis devouring Holly's corpse. One of them finally rushed forward, and the trance broke. The others also raced ahead to herd nearby students away. Too busy with his meal to notice the uniform-clad individuals, Curtis continued to eat, reacting only when a ' _BANG!'_  rang out.

Blood spurted from his thigh as he shrieked, whirling around to face the source of his pain.

“Put your hands up!” one of the officers yelled, but Curtis just rammed right into the guy, sending him flying.

Another shot rang across the room, but whether or not it hit Curtis couldn't be determined. He overtook another officer and slashed the guy to ribbons, now working himself into a frenzy. Snarling, he rushed into a throng of students and began attacking at random, the screams of new victims filling the air.

“Back away from the creature!” another officer yelled and managed to get a big enough clearing to fire several times.

Curtis shrieked yet again and charged at her, but he stumbled as other officers also fired. The bullets didn't seem to do as much damage as they would on a normal human, but Malcolm could tell they were still taking a toll.

Letting out one final animalistic roar, Curtis scaled a nearby wall using his talon-like feet and clawed hands. He smashed the window and disappeared into the night.

A second later, an officer turned on all the lights in the gym, and the full extent of the carnage became visible to Malcolm. The blood-smeared walls and floors almost looked like a movie set. He wanted to convince himself that's all it was, that the mangled bodies littering the floor were just props, not the remains of what had been living, breathing human beings only moments before.

But try as he might, he couldn't do it. As the sound of wailing students washed over him, all he could do was close his eyes.


	26. Whose Fault Is It Anyway?

The world faded away after the lights came on. In a haze, Malcolm walked amidst sobbing students, staring in numb silence at the uniformed officials trying to hold back an oncoming flood of frantic parents. Flashing lights and screams surrounded him, and he shut his eyes for a moment of peace, _just one, please._

When he opened them, he sat on a linoleum floor, fluorescent lights overhead and a blanket draped across his shoulders. Above him, photos of volleyball teams hung in black and white, sending a jolt through him—the Wesley Recreation Center. How did he get here?

He glanced around him—he wasn’t alone. Traumatized students and faculty members filled the main auditorium to the brim, while nurses and blue uniform-clad officers handed out refreshments to the beleaguered witnesses. Witnesses. Oh no.

It all came rushing back. A sledgehammer of turmoil struck him, the experience of everything so overwhelming that death seemed preferable. He bit his fist, drawing blood, drawing _anything_ to distract him from the sheer agony of being alive right then, right there. Tears rolled down his face, and he covered it. The world, unfortunately, did not fade again.

He sat on the floor, burying his face in arms propped against his knees, until someone said his name. He didn’t acknowledge it, and it took them shaking his shoulder to get him to lift his head toward a group of four students.

“Hey, Malcolm,” Bianca murmured, eyes red from crying, “we just came over to check up on you.”

“Don't bother.” He wiped his nose. “I don't deserve anything. I should be dead, not anybody else.”

“That's a harsh thing to say.” The girl with the purple streak, Chelsea, frowned at his words. There was no visible moisture in her eyes, but her face, smudged from mascara and eyeliner, looked swollen. “You were trying to warn us.”

Fresh tears poured out as he wailed, “And it's my fault that it happened in the first place!”

The outburst made all four of them stare at him.

Ethan scowled. “What the hell do that mean!?”

Malcolm shook as sobs wracked his body. Wiping his eyes, he whimpered, “He wouldn't have turned into that thing if it weren't for me.”

Bianca bit her lip, crouching down next to him. “Malcolm... I need you to tell us what's going on. Why do you think this is your fault? How did you know there was going to be an attack? How did Curtis turn into that... that thing?”

At her insistence, he took a long, shuddering breath. Then he launched into the story about the Lab, the formula, the strange occurrences throughout the week, and finally the confrontation in the back alley—though he didn't mention anything about his old school or Curtis' bizarre displays of ‘affection.’ Truthfully, he didn't really want to think about it. Even now, his stomach still churned from the experience.

“Wow,” Adam breathed once Malcolm finished. He looked off for a moment, Bianca and Chelsea also appearing to need a minute to digest everything.

Ethan, however, had a different reaction. “So you never thought to fucking tell anybody about the stuff!?” His eyes blazed down at Malcolm, forcing him to shrink.

Adam glowered at him. “Ethan—”

“No, don't fucking ' _Ethan_ ' me!” he shot back. “People are dead! Tommy is dead! And anyway, how do we know he's even telling the truth, huh? He said that monster thing wanted him to help it out. What if they're working together? What if he just want us to trust him and then he helps it get more people!?”

The accusation made Malcolm's mouth go dry. “No... I would never...”

“He helped you up! I saw it! He fucking wasted everybody except you! He just pat your head and went on his way! Explain that!”

“What?” Chelsea looked between Malcolm and Ethan, eyes glistening. “That wouldn't... I don't think... right?” She stumbled over her words and covered her face, shoulders shaking. “Oh God...”

Bianca stared off into the distance while Adam's nostrils flared.

“Ethan, stop it!” he hissed. “Why would Malcolm tell us any of this if he was working with Curtis?”

Ethan curled his lip. “Adam, man, listen to me—”

“No! Tommy was my friend too, you know! Yet I'm not accusing somebody of being a... a... fucking co-conspirator! Somebody who went out of his way to try to help us!”

Ethan still glowered. “I’m just—”

“You’re just being a paranoid asshole!” Adam yelled. “That’s it! That’s literally it!”

The ire dimmed from Ethan's gaze. Sucking in a breath, he glanced upward in an obvious attempt not to cry. “Okay... okay, you're right... I'll stop. Sorry... this has been a rough evening.” He tried to surreptitiously wipe his face on his sleeve and looked away, eyes downcast.

Malcolm buried his face in his arms again.

Bianca rested her hand on his shoulder. “It wasn't your fault, Malcolm. You didn't want this to happen.”

He sniffled. “I wish I had told someone earlier. I was just... I didn't want to get in trouble.” He raised his head. “If I had known what I know now...” Another sob escaped his lips, and the rest of the sentence died in his throat.

“I think all of us would do some stuff differently if we knew this was going to happen,” Adam murmured in a hollow voice. The others nodded, and a silence fell over them.

Chelsea was the first to break the quiet. Clearing her throat, she gestured off into the auditorium. “I'm... uh... going to go check up on Elijah.” She turned to Malcolm. “Hang in there. I... I'm sorry all of this had to go down.”

He didn't respond, and she walked off.

The others glanced at each other. Ethan murmured, “I think I'll head off too” before departing. Adam gave Malcolm a sympathetic smile and followed Ethan, leaving Bianca as his only companion.

“You can go,” he said. “I'll be okay.”

Her eyes flicked toward a group of crying girls before she turned back to face him. “Okay, Malcolm.” Her face clouded over with a strange sadness, and she squeezed his hand. “Please promise me you won't blame yourself.”

He didn't say anything, and she sighed as she headed off, casting one last glance behind her.

He didn’t react. His thoughts had already started to consume him.

***

The death count rolled in a couple of hours later—twenty-three students, three faculty members, and two police officers in total. This information didn't do much to Malcolm; he didn't think he could feel any worse than he did at that moment.

After what seemed like an eternity, an officer ushered him into a little side office for questioning. He sat down hesitantly across the table from her, and she pulled out a notepad, giving him a reassuring smile.

“Thank you so much for your patience. I know this has been a horrible, traumatic night, but we need to interview everyone who’s willing.”

He nodded, and she glanced down at the pad.

“Name?”

“Malcolm Sanders.” He barely processed his lips moving, his mind stuck in a fog.

“Grade?”

“Senior.”

Once she had asked a few more questions regarding personal information, she said, “Can you tell me about what you saw tonight?”

He stared down at his hands, fidgeting for a moment. The officer made no move to rush him, and he closed his eyes, breathing slowly out through his nose. “I know everything that happened.”

Her face was stoic when he reopened them, and she nodded at him to continue. Squaring his shoulders, he recounted the same information he told the other students earlier, and she jotted down as many notes as possible.

As he finished, she frowned down at the pad. “And you're saying that the creature is a result of a formula located in Krieger Military Lab?”

A lump formed in his throat, but he managed to squeak out a “yes.”

“And you're positive that none of this substance landed on you?”

He nodded, but she continued to frown.

“Well, we'll talk to the Lab to get more information. Right now, I want to get a medical examiner to draw some blood to make sure your values are normal. If what you say is true, then you should be clear, but I don't want to take any chances.” She paused, pen hovering over the pad. “An officer is going to be stationed outside your house for a couple of days in case the creature attempts to talk to you. But in the meantime, try and get some rest. You've been a great help to us. After we collect some blood, someone will call your parents so you can leave.”

He didn't know what possessed him to do it, whether it was the lack of sleep from the long night or just the atmosphere of grief and horror, but for whatever reason, he blurted out, “Please don't kill Curtis!”

The officer still didn't react with any kind of surprise and instead just folded her hands.

Stuttering, Malcolm continued, “I-I... know this has been terrible... and he did terrible things... but it's not his fault! It's that formula! And... and... his mom! He's all she has! Please! If they can find a cure, he'll be better... I swear...”

This last bit finally elicited something. Discomfort flashed across her face at his grasping for straws, and she sighed. “It's going to be public data soon anyway, so...” Running a hand through her hair, she pursed her lips. “Whether or not Curtis is under the influence of another force doesn't matter. He's very dangerous. As for his mother... we found three bodies in his place of residence during the search, two men and one woman. Based on drivers' licenses, we identified one of the men as Donald Minksy, the landlord of the establishment. The other was a man by the name of Jeffrey Ganz, believed to have been in a relationship with the last victim—Patricia Moretti.”

Malcolm’s blood turned to ice water. “She's... she's...”

The officer nodded. “I understand that you care about your friend, but I need for you to realize the gravity of this situation. We believe he lured at least two of the victims to the apartment by using his mother's phone. This is an individual who actively wants to hurt others, and right now, our top priority is everyone's safety.”

Tears ran down his cheeks, and he choked out, “Did she die quickly?”

She shifted for a moment. “I'm not at liberty to discuss the specifics—”

“Did he eat them!?”

The question popped out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and the look on her face was the only answer he needed. Shuddering, he buried his face in his hands, a fresh wave of horror settling over him.

Curtis ate them. Curtis lured them to his apartment and killed them and then called Malcolm, and he had stupidly listened to the monster eat them on the phone and hadn't thought anything of it. He had failed to warn everyone, and now people were dead.

Scooting her chair back, the officer then guided his grief-stricken form out of the room to allow for the next witness. A witness, Malcolm was sure, who wouldn't be to blame for the awful, awful night.


	27. Always Get the Nerd's Help

Mom and Dad hugged Malcolm for ten minutes straight after he finally left the Rec Center. They sobbed onto his shoulders, babbling out gibberish he couldn't understand but probably amounted to many variations of “ _I love you_ ” and “ _thank God you're safe_.” He couldn't blame them and returned the embraces in kind, tears still flowing freely.

When they got home, he extracted himself from their clutches and excused himself to his room. After showering, he crawled into bed, every limb screaming for rest.

However, sleep evaded him. He stared up at the ceiling until the early hours of the morning, his leaden eyelids only staying shut as the sun's rays started creeping into his room.

The nightmares made him wish they had remained open.

Breathing heavily, he forced his agitated mind to calm down—he needed to stop believing every stray shadow was Curtis coming to take him away. Even after his heart rate returned to normal, he still couldn't help jumping at Cooper’s patter on the stairs. The normalcy of his room suddenly seemed unbearable, and he curled into a ball, the awful guilt blanketing him like his comforter had just a moment ago. Why did he get to be here when so many would never go home? Why was he special?

The rest of the day did little to improve his mood. As promised, an officer patrolled the perimeter of the house to make sure no monster showed its face. Malcolm occasionally watched the guy from his window but made no move to interact with him. Part of him didn't want to hear any updates on Curtis' whereabouts, but had he asked, he knew the guy would have had no information.

Despite the manhunt, no one reported any sightings of the monster. Still, a mandatory curfew had been enforced to prevent any other casualties. The town didn’t want to take any chances; there was already enough grief, reflected by the cancelation of classes for the week. The official statement was to allow students a mourning period, but for Malcolm, this did nothing but give him plenty of time to sink into depression.

Things with his parents weren't much better. Anytime he left his room, Mom and Dad treated him like he would fall apart at the slightest touch, and while that wasn't far from the truth, having it acknowledged so heavily just made it worse. It didn't help when he overheard Mom sobbing on Monday morning. In the evening, she told him the Lab had laid off many employees due to upkeep costs and budget cuts, which only exacerbated his guilt, leaving him with little motivation to traverse the house.

Instead, he isolated himself, staring at his wall in a dazed fog of grief. He wasn’t worthy of having fun with his computer or video games, and all sleep did was bring him nightmares of scaly limbs and sharp teeth. It was a hellish limbo that made the days seem like eternities, and the nights terrifying times of endless darkness.

With all of the misery, he shouldn’t have been surprised when a representative from the Lab came to speak with him on Tuesday. Even so, when Mom called him downstairs to greet the perfectly postured suit, his brain froze.

The woman gave him a smile and held out her hand. “Hello, Malcolm, is it?”

He nodded and numbly shook the offered appendage.

“I’m Diane Mathis. I work for Krieger Military Lab, and I just wanted to ask you a few questions. There’s no need to worry; I already spoke with your parents.” She glanced back at them with a calculatedly comforting smile before returning her attention to him. “Let’s have a seat in the living room, shall we?”

Both Malcolm and his parents started to move into the suggested area when Diane cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Sanders, but this conversation is only supposed to be between me and your son. I hope you can understand.”

She gave that same smile from earlier, and Mom wet her lips while a dark look passed over Dad’s face.

“Of course,” Mom finally said. She tugged Dad’s sleeve, and their footsteps faded after a few seconds.

Settling onto the couch, Diane gestured at the seat opposite her. “Sit.”

He nervously complied as she folded her hands.

“Now, Malcolm, like I said, you’re not in trouble. I’m just here to have a friendly conversation. So you can relax.”

He didn’t.

Diane continued to smile, pulling out a manila envelope from a bag next to her person. “From what the police told us, you claimed the perpetrator responsible for the Homecoming incident on Saturday transformed from a formula in our facility, correct?”

He nodded.

“And you were with this party at the time they were exposed to the formula?”

Again, he nodded, refusing to blink at the formally dressed figure in front of him.

“Furthermore, this party found the proper authorization to get into the Restricted Area left unsupervised in a bathroom in our facility.”

“Yes,” he whispered, wishing he were anywhere else.

She smiled. “Have you told anyone besides the police or your parents this information?”

For a moment, the faces of the four teens from the Rec Center flashed through his mind. He was about to respond truthfully when something stopped him. He didn’t know what, he wasn’t even sure _why_ , but instead of giving an affirmative, he answered, “No.”

Diane practically beamed. “Wonderful.” Delicately, she removed a paper from the manila envelope and a pen from her pocket, then returned her gaze to him. “Now, Malcolm, as I’m sure you’re aware, the perpetrator from the incident on Saturday is very dangerous. It is our highest priority to ensure safety of the community, which also entails preventing hysteria. You did the right thing by telling the police, but we need to make sure this story doesn’t get twisted and blown out of proportion.” She stood up and crossed over to his side, holding out the piece of paper. “To do this, we’d like to keep this information confidential. On this form, you’ll find a few terms and conditions regarding this incident, most of it concerning any future actions you might make with your knowledge. You may look over it if you like.”

He accepted the form, the words on the page running together in his nerve-addled brain.

To his side, Diane further explained, “If you sign this form, you are agreeing to these terms and conditions. You will only speak to official authorities or any other authorized individuals on matters concerning Krieger Military Lab’s involvement with this incident. Does that make sense?”

Swallowing, he nodded once more.

The pen appeared in his field of vision as Diane offered it to him. “When you’re ready, you may sign.”

“Do I have to?”

The words escaped before he could even think, and Diane’s immaculately tailored smile faltered for just a moment.

“I don’t see why you would disagree with the form’s terms. This is standard protocol following a disaster; we need compliance to ensure optimal conditions for the community.”

“So...” He swallowed again, wishing he could wipe his sweaty palms on his pants. “So I don’t technically have to sign?”

“No,” Diane lilted, her voice taking on a saccharine edge, “you don’t technically have to sign. But I would highly encourage you to do so.”

It was a threat. No matter how sugary she made her tone, a threat was a threat. He should comply. He should just do what she wanted. Homecoming was his fault. But like before, something stopped him. Something inside him didn’t want to sign that form, _couldn’t_ sign that form.

A compromise arose in his brain, and he breathed, “Can I think it over and you come back in a couple of days?”

Diane’s smile flickered briefly, followed by a nod. “Yes, that should be fine.” She took the form from his clammy hands and placed it back in the manila envelope. “Please think over our conversation. I will be in touch to hear your decision.” Packing up the rest of her things, she gave him one last clipped smile. “Have a good rest of your day. I hope any fears or concerns you may have over this agreement are alleviated in the coming days.”

And with that, she departed, leaving him on the couch with his stomach in his feet.

***

When Wednesday morning arrived, Malcolm expected the same routine. He had spent the rest of Tuesday mulling over the representative’s words, shocked at his own sudden defiance. Why did he do that? Why didn’t he just sign the form? Who was he going to tell?

The questions tormented him, adding to the already present trauma from Homecoming. When it came time for bed, he wasn’t optimistic on his odds for any meaningful rest.

He finally managed to doze off into a fitful sleep and woke shivering, glad to see that no monster held him in its arms. Pulling himself out of bed, he forced himself to shower and then headed back to his room—was getting dressed even worth the effort? He glanced in his T-shirt drawer, and his heart sank at the _Captain America_ garb lying on top. How long ago it seemed that he was delightedly showing it to Curtis; now it just sat as a hollow reminder of better times.

Still, he had spent money on it, and—since it was better than nothing—he pulled it over his head, pausing to appraise himself in the mirror.

He didn't look very heroic. He just looked like a fat kid who liked comic books.

Sighing, he sat on his bed as the same unbearable sadness washed over him, ready for his usual schedule of blank wall-staring.

Before he could get going, Mom’s voice from downstairs made him perk up. Poking his head out of his room, he called out, “Yes?”

“There's some people here for you. They said they're going to take you to the Memorial Rally.”

 _Memorial Rally!?_ What the heck was that? Curiosity got the best of him, and he stole his way down the steps, where he froze at the hopeful faces of Bianca, Adam, Chelsea, and Ethan.

“Hi, Malcolm!” Chelsea chirped, far too cheerful considering any of the current circumstances. “Are you ready to go, or do you still need some stuff from your room?”

He scanned his brain for any plans he might have made and came up empty. However, the group looked so friendly that he murmured, “Uh... let me go check...”

“We'll come with you,” Adam stated, and soon, Malcolm had four individuals following him upstairs.

Once they arrived in his room, Bianca shut the door, and the chipper expressions faded.

“You're probably wondering why we're here,” she said.

He slowly sat on his bed, looking around at the four of them. “Yeah... I was a little confused.”

“Ethan can explain.” Chelsea nodded at the boy as he frowned and glanced away from Malcolm.

“I guess,” he muttered, scratching the side of his buzz cut.

“Dude, we talked about this.” Adam gestured toward Malcolm. “He's the one who knows the most about what happened. We need his help.”

“My help?” Malcolm gawked at Adam, his bewilderment only growing by the second.

Bianca nodded at his slack-jawed state. “Ethan thinks something is going on, and since we're the only ones who know the real reason Curtis turned into a monster, we figured it's up to us.”

The representative’s words slithered through his mind. “Hold on.” Folding his arms across his chest, he furrowed his brow. “We are NOT the only ones who know. The police know too, and—quite frankly—they're way better at handling anything than a bunch of teenagers. What are you guys planning?”

“He's got a point,” Chelsea quipped, and Adam made a shushing noise.

“Malcolm, please,” he pleaded, “just hear Ethan out, okay? He makes a really good case, and you might change your mind.”

As Malcolm stared into Adam’s blue eyes, his resistance melted away. Nodding reluctantly, he focused his attention on the equally reluctant-looking Ethan, who sighed.

“Here goes nothing.” Cracking his knuckles, he stated, “So I'm gonna start right away by saying that I don't fucking like cops, so maybe I'm biased or whatever, but I have noticed some weird crap going down that I think shows something's up.”

Malcolm shifted uneasily, but then indicated for him to continue.

“Anyway, first things first, there is literally fucking _nothing_ about this in the national news. Not on NBC, not on CNN, not on Fox—I literally looked at freaking Fox—and not one mention. I found some articles online, but they're super vague. Absolutely no mention of Curtis being a giant lizard monster thing or whatever. Just a story about a high school tragedy with a generic perp.”

“Okay...” Malcolm murmured. “I still don't quite see why this means we need to get involved.”

Ethan raised a finger. “Not done. So like I was saying, that's pretty suspicious. It's been a few days now; anybody would think a disaster like this would be all over the place. Then comes the downright freaky part. I live a few miles outside of town, and recently, what looks like _military_  dudes have been setting up camp. Guys with guns. A little alarming, but you know, Curtis is a monster, so might as well use the nearby base. However, this doesn't explain all the sudden construction going on. Roads blocked off, the highway inaccessible when you get several miles outside of town... it's a little too convenient if you ask me.”

The others nodded while Malcolm pursed his lips. “You think they're keeping people from coming in?”

“Yep. Possibly leaving too. I think they want to contain this, make sure nothing gets out.”

He took a shaky breath. “What if that stuff is just for Curtis?”

“It’s not. They’re quarantining everybody. When my mom started heading to Clarksville to go to work, they told her if she left, she wouldn’t be able to get back in for a few days. They suggested staying put.”

The information made him turn away for a moment, pausing to digest everything. Once satisfied, he scowled. “None of this explains why you feel like you have to do something.”

“Because we live here, Malcolm!” Bianca exclaimed. “We have to do something because we're all in danger! If the authorities are more concerned with keeping this quiet than actually helping us, then we can't just sit around.”

“And what exactly do you plan on doing?”

“Hold up,” Ethan snapped. “I still got a bit more info before y'all go fucking psycho, okay?”

Malcolm and Bianca nodded while Ethan licked his lips, taking a deep breath.

“I do agree with Bianca. I think we in a lot more trouble than anybody realizes... I haven't told any of you this part because I didn't want to freak people out, but I figure it's time.” At the others' concerned faces, he grimaced. “The official report right now is that there have been no sightings of Curtis. That's half-true...”

“You saw him?” Adam gaped at him, and he shook his head.

“No, I didn't. But right after I contacted you guys about noticing the weird stuff going on around town, my dogs started acting weird. Kept barking at the trees beyond the property and whining and putting their tails between their legs... they were acting _terrified._ My dad and I assumed maybe there were coyotes around, so we put some of the pregnant cows in the barn. Our fences are good, but you can never be too careful.”

“Then what happened?” Bianca whispered.

“When we got up this morning, we found the fence to the bull enclosure smashed to bits at one end. Our bull was nowhere to be found, but there were some _huge_ freaking tracks in the ground, along with some blood. No fucking way a coyote did that.”

Malcolm’s stomach sank like a stone, an image flashing through his mind of Curtis with blood-covered claws dragging away the bull.

Ethan's voice pierced through his mental theater: “My dad talked to some of his friends who also own farms around here. Apparently, some of them have had cattle disappear too. And wouldn't you know it, when we tried to contact Animal Control to report it, all they did was thank us, then offer some vague speech about how we shouldn’t be alarmed.”

“Holy shit,” Chelsea breathed. “You really think that was him?”

“No, it was the T-Rex from _Jurassic Park_ ; what else you think it could have been!?”

She glared at him. “Geez, I just asked a freaking question. No need to blow up at me.”

He looked away sheepishly. “Sorry... sorry...”

Fidgeting, Malcolm tried to stop his mind from racing. “So why come to me? I don't know anything else. I can't help you out.”

“Yes, you can,” Bianca insisted. “You said your mom works at the Lab. You could talk to her, maybe find out more information on this mysterious formula.”

He shook his head, frowning. “That wouldn't work. She was a manager, not a scientist. Even so, she had nothing to do with that project.” He sighed and averted his gaze. “And besides, the Lab laid her and a bunch of other people off. She doesn't work there anymore.”

“What!?” Chelsea cried. She turned to Ethan, a sudden fire in her eyes. “They are trying to cover it up! I bet they're downsizing to make up the cost of handling this situation. Maybe they’re even trying to erase any connection to the formula.”

Malcolm’s stomach twisted as Ethan cocked his head, nodding.

“Hey, yeah... I bet you're right,” he murmured.

“I have to be. Why else would they be doing that?”

“I...” Malcolm began, shrinking as everyone directed their attention toward him. “I actually agree with you on that... on the Lab wanting to cover it up.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Yesterday, this woman showed up from there... with a form stating that I wasn’t supposed to tell anybody what I knew.” He paused as the others stared. “She wanted to know if I had told anyone—don’t worry, I said no—and seemed... really insistent on this information not getting out.”

“So you think they’re trying to force you to stay quiet?” Bianca asked.

He nodded.

“Which means we need to go there.” Chelsea set her mouth in a hard line. “This could be our last chance to get any evidence about the stuff, prove that the Lab is the whole reason there's a monster running around. Prove that there is something very _wrong_ going on.”

Silence filled the room. Malcolm licked his lips, uncertainty clawing at his insides—the woman’s clipped smile, her aura of bureaucratic menace, flashed in his mind’s eye. Going to the Lab... that was a risk. That was _dangerous._

“While I think you have a point...”

They all jumped as Adam spoke, his gaze pensive.

“I also think we need to devise some sort of a game plan. I doubt we’ll be allowed to just barge in there. Maybe we should wait until nightfall?”

Malcolm nodded at his addition. “Yeah, I remember my mom saying that they upped security; added door scanners and cameras everywhere.”

“Well, we should at least survey the area, try to find a way to get in.” Chelsea glanced at each of them. “From there, find out what we can, then get out. This is our one chance. Nobody is going to be wondering about us heading off because of the Memorial Rally; and besides—the longer we wait, the more likely it is for Curtis to attack someone else.” She folded her arms. “We _need_ to get the word out about what's happening in Wesley.”

Bianca brought her gaze to meet Malcolm’s. “Can you... can you tell us anything about where to go when we’re inside? We can figure out how to get to the Lab... but... you know...”

That strange feeling from earlier, the one that defied Diane, suddenly welled up. He stood, shaking his head. “I'll come with you. I'm responsible for a lot of this mess, and I can't just sit around any longer.”

Despite Ethan's disgruntled groan, the group didn't argue with him. With a quick glance around the room, he steeled himself before following them down the stairs to wish his parents goodbye.

“I hope the Rally is nice,” Mom murmured after they ended their farewell hug.

He nodded and then headed with the four teens down to a blue Camry parked on the street, ready to figure out what was going on in their small, Midwestern town.


	28. Road Trip to Truth

“Take a left here. You want to get on the highway.”

Chelsea nodded at Malcolm's instructions, turning the steering wheel as they reached the intersection. The rest of the group huddled in a quiet stupor in the backseat, while he sat awkwardly in front.

A few cars passed them, but for the most part, the town seemed almost deserted. Besides those headed toward the Memorial Rally, people only left home for work—no children, no pets, no random pedestrians. It made Malcolm's palms sweat, and he had to fight off an urge to cry at the fresh wave of guilt. This was all his fault.

“All right, this silence sucks.”

He jumped at Chelsea’s statement and turned to face her as she scowled at the road.

“Just because we're going to try and break into a military facility doesn't mean we have to act like we're going to die. Somebody tell a joke or something.”

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Malcolm tried to gauge the others’ reactions. They shifted uneasily at Chelsea's words—basically, the same response as him. How was he supposed to come up with anything right now?

Adam cleared his throat. “Well... I can't think of any jokes... but I was thinking, does everyone know each other? We could do icebreakers.”

“I will jump out of this fucking car if we play icebreakers, swear to God,” Ethan muttered, and the rest of them giggled at his cadence.

“Hi, I'm Bianca,” she sang, still giggling. “I like gymnastics, listening to music, and psychology. My favorite movie is _Finding Nemo_.” She smiled expectantly at Ethan, who just glowered at her.

“Hi, my name is Malcolm.”

Ethan groaned. “No, can we not—”

“I like comic books and video games and anime. My favorite movie is _Spirited Away_ , and I want to be a doctor someday.”

“Thank you, Malcolm.” Bianca beamed. “Who wants to go next?”

“Hi, I'm Adam.”

“Guys, please!” Ethan hissed.

“I like sports and _Power Rangers_ , and I hate shrimp. My favorite movie is _Forrest Gump;_ I've probably seen it over twenty times, and LeBron James is my personal hero.”

The car made another turn, and the sign for the highway appeared a few hundred feet ahead.

Ethan sighed in relief. “All right, glad that's—”

“Hi, my name is Chelsea—”

“UGHHHHH—”

“—a.k.a the coolest person you will ever meet. I am a fierce feminist, vegan failure as burgers are just too tasty, and all-around kickass person. My favorite movie is _Black Swan_ , and in my free time, I like to stare at my computer screen for hours, ' _surfing the Web_ ' as my mom likes to say. Occasionally, I watch Bob Ross or look up weird conspiracy theories.”

Malcolm giggled at her introduction, and even Ethan perked up.

“Wait, why conspiracy theories?”

She shrugged, scratching her neck. “Dunno. They're weird.” She glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “You got a problem with that?”

“No, no,” he stated hastily, grinning. “Conspiracy theories are the best shit to read. You just don't meet too many people who do. Same for Bob Ross.”

Chelsea's eyes lit up. “You like Bob Ross!?”

With a groan, Adam stated, “Lots of people like Bob Ross. This isn't some new thing.”

Ethan shushed him and leaned forward. “Okay, now I gotta know... what's your opinion on Chance the Rapper?”

“Love him.”

“ _Prison Break?”_

“I watched it a while back, it was pretty good.”

Ethan grinned, and Adam shot him a strange look while Chelsea called out, “Okay, long shot here. What's your opinion on _Supernatural_ fanfiction?”

Ethan creased his brow. “What?”

“Eh, it was worth a try,” she muttered, and Bianca nearly collapsed into her seat in a bout of giggles.

Even Malcolm found that he couldn't help grinning as Chelsea took the on-ramp onto the highway. “Take the first exit,” he instructed.

Chelsea nodded, pressing her foot down on the gas.

From the backseat, Ethan said, “So everybody satisfied now with icebreakers? We done with that?” A chorus of agreement went up, and he continued, “All right, now we can focus on finding out what the hell went on to make Curtis turn into a lizard monster.”

Malcolm stiffened at the boy's name, and Chelsea cast him a sympathetic glance. He looked out the window for a moment, clenching his jaw. They were nearing the exit, the car slowing as it went around the bend. Soon, they would arrive at the Lab. Then, whether or not they were successful in learning anything about the formula, at least he had tried to help.

“Hey, Malcolm,” Bianca murmured, and he turned to face her. “How did you and Curtis meet?” At his expression, she quickly added, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset.”

He shook his head, glancing down at his hands. “We met at the beginning of last year...”

Now he had everyone’s attention, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. “We had a Debate elective together and happened to sit next to each other. I remember he was wearing a _Megaman_ shirt, and we started talking about it. We sat together at lunch too, still talking about video games, and I guess it just went from there...”  

A palpable silence hung in the air before Adam rested a hand on his shoulder. “Hey man, I'm really sorry. I can't imagine what it must feel like to watch your friend lose his mind. Hopefully, we'll find out something that can help him.”

The gesture brought a small smile to his face, and he wiped away a couple of stray tears. “Thanks.”

As Adam withdrew his hand, a groan from Chelsea caught his attention. He looked up to where a State Trooper stood in front of a “ _ROAD CLOSED_ ” sign. Chelsea rolled down her window as the man walked up, frowning.

“Sorry, road is closed.” He pointed to a detour. “You'll have to take this. It will loop around and take you back on the highway.”

She thanked the officer and then rolled her window up, lips pursed. “Looks like this will be a bit more difficult than we anticipated.”

“Is there another way, Malcolm?” Bianca asked.

He shook his head. “This was the only way I knew...”

“Wait...” Leaning forward, Ethan scrunched up his face. “The place is located on Dormer Road, right? Nearby the intersection with Hawthorne?”

Malcolm nodded.

“Okay… so… hear me out… I might be able to guide us there using some, like, back roads. There’s no way I can get onto Dormer, _but_ … maybe we can park the car a little ways away and then walk.”

Nobody had any better ideas, so Ethan instructed Chelsea on what to do. She nodded as he talked, driving back to the highway through the detour, then returning to town. They backtracked for a while, traveling on smaller and smaller roads, before making a turn onto a gravel street. From there, they drove along for several hundred feet before Ethan told Chelsea to turn off onto a nondescript dirt road, after which they followed the winding path for several hundred more yards.

Malcolm’s palms started to sweat again, and he surreptitiously tried to wipe them on his pants, scanning his surroundings. Was this even the right direction? Bianca let out a gasp, and he twisted to face her. Following her finger, he spotted the crest of the imposing building jutting just over some hills.

At this, Chelsea straightened, new determination filling her face.

They didn't make it to the main path—as Ethan had predicted—and instead parked behind a small copse of trees just large enough to disguise the car. Creeping along, they made their way to the perimeter of the facility, hiding behind a hedge. Uniformed officials patrolled the area, preventing them from getting closer, while various moving men carrying boxes left the main building to load up trucks.

“Okay, now what?” Adam whispered. He craned his neck. “It looks like we need some kind of authorization to get in... even so, that’s a lot of guards. Anybody got any ideas?”

Malcolm shook his head. It seemed a shame to get this far, but how the heck were they going to sneak in?

Apparently, Chelsea had a plan.

“Leave this to me.” She grinned and hurried off, the others hissing for her to come back.

She moved toward the facility in an almost dazed manner, looking lost. One of the uniformed men approached her, a frown evident on his face despite the distance. The two conversed for a moment, Chelsea repeatedly shaking the man's hand in some apparent gesture of gratitude, and at one point stumbling into the guy. He pointed off toward a road, and she headed that way before shifting directions and making her way back to them.

“What were you doing!?” Bianca whisper-shrieked.

Chelsea flashed a devilish grin in return, holding up a key card. “I got us a way in.”

Ethan's jaw dropped. “No way! You know how to pickpocket?” Admiration danced in his eyes as Chelsea nodded.

“Plus, I watched a couple people enter the building and memorized where they put their fingers on the keypad.” She grinned wider. “So now I’m _pretty_ sure we’re golden.”

“Hold up,” Adam scowled. “That's great and all, but we still need to get past those guards. Also,” he deepened his scowl, “how the hell do you know how to do that!?”

“Relax,” she quipped, running a hand through her multi-colored hair. “I told you, I spend a lot of time on the Internet. I just got bored one day, read a few articles on the technique, and then practiced every time my brothers were home; you know, just to piss them off.”

Adam continued to frown. “Fine, but that still doesn't help us get in without being spotted.”

“Why don't we keep moving around the perimeter? Maybe there will be a side door that's not as heavily guarded?” Bianca suggested.

Adam looked unconvinced at this, but the others all murmured out an agreement, and they creeped toward the side of the building.

Peeking out from behind the hedge, Ethan pointed toward a door with a scanner next to it. He ducked down a moment later as a guard came to patrol.

“Okay,” Adam whispered. “Like I said earlier, I say we camp out until at least sundown—we can make up some excuse as to why we’re breaking curfew. But we should wait until there’s the least amount of people possible, then sneak in.”

Chelsea shook her head. “Disagree.”

A mixture of befuddled glances and open mouths greeted this comment.

Pursing her lips, Chelsea responded, “Nobody expects people to sneak in during broad daylight. They’re going to be way more vigilant at night, even if there aren’t as many employees around. Besides,” she tilted her head toward the facility, “they seem to be going pretty fast. Who knows what’s going to be left by nightfall?”

As Chelsea finished, Malcolm met Bianca’s gaze, the distressed gleam within her eyes reflecting his own turmoil. He swallowed, shifting to look at Adam, who scowled and shook his head.

“This is too risky. There’s a huge likelihood we could get caught; I’m voting no.”

“I vote yes.”

Everyone almost jumped at Ethan’s objection.

He took a deep breath. “I want to go in now.”

“Ethan,” Adam pleaded, “come on, man—”

“He was at my house.” Ethan took another deep breath, this time shuddering. “Literally a couple hundred feet away, and we had no idea. He went for the bull, but if he hadn’t... if he wanted somethin’ else...” His voice cracked, and nobody interjected as he looked upward, swallowing.

“He could have easily knocked down the front door. My little sister’s room is the closest...” Lowering his gaze, he steadied his voice, eyes glinting. “They’ve been looking for him, but they haven’t accomplished shit. I ain’t gonna make anybody else go inside, but I say fuck consequences. I want to cause outrage, I want actual help that’s gonna do something, that’s not just gonna say, ‘ _Oh, thank you for your information. We’ll get someone out to you as soon as possible.’_ Because yeah, they’re sending people to look in the woods around our property, but not then. Not when it actually counted.” He folded his arms. “I’m with Chelsea. I’m going in now, not when jackshit might be left.”

Chelsea nodded, and Bianca joined in, followed by Malcolm. He refused to blink at Ethan, refused to let the tightness in his chest force tears out of his eyes.

Sighing heavily, Adam closed his fist. “Shit...” He sighed again. “When you put it that way...”

“So we agree?” Bianca interrupted.

A hesitant affirmative sounded from all parties, and they returned their attention to the side door, waiting until the guard had his back to them.

“Somebody distract him,” Chelsea hissed.

At her command, Adam plucked a rock off the ground and hurled it in the opposite direction of the guard. Staring open-mouthed, Malcolm couldn’t help his swell of awe at the distance the projectile traveled. It made a loud ' _THUNK!_ ' upon landing, causing the guard to whirl around, startled.

He went to investigate, and they took it as their cue to move, booking it across the shadowed lawn. When they arrived, Chelsea quickly scanned the card and then entered the code, allowing them access.

They were in.


	29. Science Jargon Extraordinaire

Bianca ushered everyone into a side office. Closing the door once inside, she folded her arms and wet her lips. “Okay, so we made it in. What’s the next step?”

Everyone looked at the floor, scratching their necks. While they had agreed to find information, the lack of any concrete course of action steeped everything in uncertainty. Adam’s enthusiasm for the whole adventure fizzled. He wished they had taken his suggestion at coming up with a game plan, wished he hadn’t been persuaded so easily. Maybe they were just being rash. What exactly were they going to find here?

Glancing over at Malcolm, Chelsea asked, “You know this place best. Do you have any idea where we could go?”

“Well...” he started, and everyone directed their attention toward him. The action made him fidget, so Adam gave him a reassuring smile.

After swallowing, he suggested, “I kind of... remember the way to the Restricted Area. Maybe I could try and get us there?”

Ethan spoke up: “Was that where the formula was?”

Malcolm nodded. “Give me a second… I need to think of how to get there.” He closed his eyes, deep in concentration. “I remember... we had to go down several floors... it was a large steel door... couldn't miss it... but I bet the security will be upped... I don't know if we'll be able to sneak in like I did with Curtis...”

“Probably not,” Bianca murmured. “But maybe if we can find an elevator... or stairs...”

“Take the stairs.”

Adam spun around to look at Chelsea, her mouth set in a firm line.

“Too many things can go wrong with an elevator,” she said.

“In the meantime, why don't we just check out this super cool _map_ over here,” came Ethan’s dry voice.

Everyone turned to face him as he pointed at a fire map hanging just behind them. They all let out an “ _oh_ ” in unison, then huddled around to figure out the quickest route to the Restricted Area.

As Adam scanned the map, the magnitude of the place impressed him. The main floor had multiple divisions, with an enormous foyer by the main entrance. Besides that, scores of elevators and staircases dotted the surface, and numerous floors stretched below that of the main one. It almost made him dizzy trying to comprehend everything.

Letting out a low whistle, Chelsea pointed toward the bottom of the map. “Damn, this place is huge. However, I assume this big unlabeled area is the Restricted Area.” Her finger continued to travel downward. “Still more areas below that. Wonder if there's like ' _Super Secret Areas_ ' on those floors.”

Adam creased his brow. “How come some elevators go down farther than others? Look.”

The others followed his instruction, and Bianca even murmured in confused agreement to his observation.

“Well, we’re not getting anything done standing around here,” Chelsea said, heading toward the door. “Time to get moving.” At the anxious expressions, she snapped, “If we get caught, we get caught.”

“What if we go to prison?” Adam asked, accompanying his question with a nervous arm rub. Admitting his concern made it feel ten times as real. He hadn't heard back from the recruiters yet, but if he got the scholarship, then he would be throwing his whole future away. What would Momma do? Bianca... he glanced at her, his apprehension only growing. He couldn't stand the thought of her having to suffer, even if he did feel a little bitter—he had always made time for her despite his own issues.

Chelsea scowled in return. “We're _minors_.”

“What if they just shoot us?”

“Then it's better than getting eaten by a lizard monster,” she rebutted.

Nobody had any response to that, so they followed her into the hallway, hugging the wall until they found the nearest stairwell. They swiped the key card to access it, then moved down, disguising their footfalls to the best of their abilities. Adam strained for any sort of movement. Every instinct was on high alert. At any sound, he motioned for everyone to hide under the stairs.

Time crept slowly with this method, each minute fraught with tension until they reached the level of the Restricted Area. Unfortunately, this posed a whole new challenge. The corridors were immense, with very little in the way of side rooms to hide. Like earlier, they stood around, peeking through the door’s window while hemming and hawing. The handle lay untouched.

“There's nobody there,” Chelsea whispered. “We should hurry out and then find somewhere to duck in.”

“What if we can’t find somewhere?” Bianca shot back.

Adam nodded, glad someone else felt as unsure as him. Sure, they’d been lucky so far, but he’d rather be careful than brash.

Chelsea, yet again, disagreed. She rolled her eyes, grumbling, “Looks like I have to do everything around here.”

She streaked out, and Adam bit back a curse. The others hurried after her, sprinting down the corridor, and he grudgingly joined. When she raced into a room, they did as well, pausing once inside to catch their breath.

“Did you see this room on the map?” Malcolm asked.

She nodded, not bothering to hide her superior grin, and Adam once again had to bite back a curse—why couldn’t she tell them that in the first place!? Regardless, he needed to avoid conflict—they still had a mission to complete, and as successful as they had been in not getting caught, they still didn't know how to obtain any information.

Bianca seemed to be mirroring his thoughts: “So we made it here... the Restricted Area is just around the corner, but I bet there will be someone guarding it. Which begs the question—do we just stay here and see what we can find, or attempt to force our way in?”

“The second thing sounds like a bad idea,” Ethan murmured.

The others agreed with him, so they set to work turning the room upside down. Everyone dispersed to their own corner, searching through the desk and various bookshelves.

Working together, they finished quickly but found they had little to show for it. None of the documents they unearthed seemed relevant to the formula, leading them to believe all they had accomplished was creating a mess.

Adam clenched his jaw, rolling his shoulders. The rest of the group deflated, discouraged at the lack of progress, but if anything, it just seemed to motivate him. Despite all of his misgivings, they had made it this far—no point in giving up now.

Footsteps sounded outside, and they fell into silence. Casting each other nervous glances, they inched toward the walls as the approaching noises grew louder. Someone stopped outside, a shadow obscuring the light oozing under the door, and then the knob began to turn.

Chelsea gasped quietly, hands flying to cover her mouth while Adam crouched next to the entrance. Ethan followed suit.

As the door opened, they pounced on the unsuspecting man, who nearly dropped the box he was carrying.

“Jesus!” he managed to cry before Ethan clapped a hand over his mouth.

Adam dragged him into the room and kicked the door shut behind them.

Carrying the box over to the desk, Bianca fixed them with a horrified stare. She set it down, stare still present. “Guys, what are you doing!?”

Adam pinned the man's arms behind his back. “He was going to find us, Bianca! What else were we supposed to do?”

“Wait!” Malcolm hurried over, squatting in front of the man. “Maybe he has information on the formula!”

“Formula?” he wheezed, eyes widening to twice their original size.

Adam nodded at Malcolm's suggestion, glaring down at his captive. “Hey, we'll let you go if you promise not to yell... but first, you need to tell us everything you know about whatever chemical they were working on in the Restricted Area—the one that created the monster.”

He hoped he sounded threatening enough—a kid playing ' _Secret Agent_ ' generally didn’t warrant terror.

The man didn't respond, and Ethan shook him roughly, earning a concerned shriek from Bianca.

“Guys... please! You are literally holding someone hostage!”

“They're holding our town hostage!” Chelsea shot back. Upon the man’s maintained silence, she scurried over to the box. “It's locked!”

“Here's the key!” Ethan pulled the object from the man's belt and tossed it to her.

After unlocking and opening the box, she revealed an array of stoppered Erlenmeyer flasks and pulled one out.

“What do they say?” Ethan asked as she frowned, holding one up to the light.

“They're not labeled, but they are marked as ' _Dangerous._ '” Handing one over to Adam, she smirked. “Maybe we can use it as a motivator...?”

This time, both Bianca and Malcolm gasped. “Don't!” the boy cried.

Adam’s stunned silence reflected the sentiment. “Chelsea… Jesus, no.” He set the flask down beside him. “I’m not going to torture or kill someone over this.”

She scowled. “You don’t have to do either. Just look threatening.” Glowering at the floor, she muttered, “Now he knows we’re a joke.”

An uncomfortable pause filled the room, and the man’s panicked expression faded to bewilderment. “Did you… did you guys think any of this through?”

“No,” they admitted.

“We just want to know what’s going on,” Malcolm whispered. “A formula from this Lab created the monster that attacked people at Homecoming, and there’s a lot of sketchy stuff going on.”

Shifting his gaze between each member of the group, the man frowned. “How do you know about the formula?”

At this, they took turns recounting Malcolm’s tale, with him butting in to correct any misinformation. Throughout the duration, the man’s expression alternated between intrigued and shocked.

“I… the ID was just left out, unattended?”

Malcolm shrugged. “Apparently.”

“And same with the formula?”

“Yeah.”

Without warning, the man started laughing, nearly doubled over. It caught Adam off guard, and he jerked back, accidentally releasing his grip—what the hell?

When the laughter finally stopped, the man wiped his eyes. “Oh God… this place is an even bigger joke than I thought.”

Adam exchanged a look with Ethan—this had gone from embarrassing to weird.

Now composed, the man pursed his lips. “You know what… me and the other researchers are most likely getting laid off in the next few days, so fuck it. I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Really?” Malcolm asked, gaping.

He nodded. “Sure. If it screws them over, then I’m all for it. This place has treated me like shit the whole time I’ve worked here.” He squared his shoulders. “It was a project—”

“Wait!” Chelsea pulled out her phone and started an audio recording while the man eyed it warily. “Okay, now you can continue.”

“You gonna distort my voice…?”

Ethan crossed his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

The man shrugged. “All right.” He cleared his throat. “The project was commissioned by the Department of Defense. They wanted a substance, easy to administer, that would allow cells to heal even in the most adverse conditions, and much more quickly than in nature.”

Chelsea knit her brows together. “Wait, that has nothing to do with being a monster!”

“I'm not finished yet,” the man said.

Scowling, Adam shushed her as the man resumed: “The formula worked... to an extent. At its current stage, it did allow DNA repair and even advanced wound healing. But to do this, the body had to have cytokine signaling to be able to interpret the correct tissue. Then either metaplasia occurred, or any viable cells of a similar nature would undergo rapid mitotic division.”

“Okay, is anybody else lost?” Ethan's confused face scanned the rest of the group, and the man sighed.

“The cells keep dividing! That's all you need to know! Now, can I continue?”

They nodded.

“Well, later we found out this rapid mitotic division occurred regardless of injury. An unusual side effect, prone to quite a few complications. Which unfortunately did occur—many of our test animals died, but for those that happened to live...”

They leaned forward, and he took a deep breath. “Multiple things happened: for one, their cells experienced dramatic hypertrophy and hyperplasia, probably prompted by excessive pituitary stimulation and release of somatotropin, along with myostatin inhibition.”

“Just like Robert Wadlow,” Malcolm breathed.

The man looked startled at his addition, while Adam struggled to maintain his attentive expression—what in the world did this stuff mean?

“Um... I suppose?” the man said. “But anyway, we found the animals had an overall increase in both body size and muscle mass with expression of anatomy and physiology changes that weren't found in their species, possibly exacerbated by compounds in the drug—we extracted a few of the components from reptile proteins, although that doesn’t explain the morphological shift. Quite frankly, we aren't entirely sure _why_ these side effects occur, but the current best explanation is that the formula is expressing latent genes, potentially activated by these rogue catalysts. As certain introns are left in during the excessive DNA replication—along with some possible mutagenic properties—it caused... well...”

“It caused, in short, the test animals to turn into lizard creatures?” Chelsea frowned at the man, who nodded hurriedly.

“Yes... which was a rather large problem. We were onto something huge; I mean, you would think with that much mitotic division that cancer would be a given, but the organism seemed to be able to phagocytose any oncogene before the inevitable. I... I can honestly say I've never seen anything like it. Maybe we weren’t successful in completing our mission, but the research possibilities...”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, however, we were ordered to euthanize all the transformed test subjects. As it was, we never intended for it to be used on a human. No one knew how it would react, and even so, we had only used relatively low doses on the test animals. Nothing like... like what happened in the school could have ever been predicted. Trust me, we were just as horrified as anyone else. To see the effects so compounded...” He stared ahead, gaze hollow. “And from what the police reported, apparently the formula wasn't even administered intravenously. All of that from being given topically...”

“Could the formula also cause behavioral changes?”

Adam turned to his side, now facing an almost tearful Malcolm.

Ethan did as well, scowling, “What do that have to do with anything?”

The man blinked while Malcolm sniffled. “Did any of the animals become more aggressive?”

Realization dawned on Adam, and even Ethan looked a little sheepish at his earlier tone. Malcolm had done it—he’d asked the damning question.

The man wet his lips, struggling to respond. “I believe... we may have noticed some increase... but nothing conclusive... certainly nothing that warranted even separating the test subjects that transformed. I'm afraid I don't know if a larger dose would cause greater aggression... I'm sorry.”

Malcolm drooped at this while Ethan growled, “So what's up with the blocked roads, the lack of news coverage? Are the armed men here just to protect us or is there something else going on?”

His inquiry was met with pursed lips. “I don’t know as much as I’d like about that. Mainly things I’ve overheard.”

When Ethan gestured for him to continue, the man furrowed his brow. “Well, I know they think it’s important to keep this story under wraps, now that we know the true potential of this formula.” He glanced at each of them. “And they keep talking about citizens remaining in Wesley to prevent any kind of hysteria, at least until the monster is captured. They seemed pretty adamant about trying to get him alive.”

“So we just sit here and hope we don't die until this place cleans up its own fucking mess!?” Ethan shouted.

Chelsea shushed him, and he bit his lip, glowering away from the man.

Annoyance flickered across the guy’s face. “Yeah, keep quiet, you idiot. Because there’s one thing I know for sure…” He folded his arms, glaring at the floor. “They told us to keep quiet until this mess was settled, and they want it settled as quickly as possible. But until then… according to them, it would be for the greater good to allow some civilian casualties if it meant not letting such valuable research potential go to waste.” He looked up. “Basically, they don’t fucking care about any of you.”

The resulting silence in the room felt suffocating, and Adam had to fight down a wave of nausea. _For the greater good... Jesus..._

The others didn’t fare much better. Everyone seemed to fold in, and Adam wished he wasn’t present. How was any of this real?

“You can end the recording,” the man finally offered.

Chelsea nodded, drooping, while he dusted himself off.

“Okay, if you don’t mind, people are going to be suspicious about what’s taking me so long. I should—” He stopped as heavy footfalls rapidly drew closer. “Oh shit—”

The door burst open, and two guards rushed inside. “Freeze!” they yelled.

With a scream, the man lunged at one of them before being backhanded toward Adam. Reflexively, he twisted out of the way, letting the man topple into the flask full of liquid and shatter it.

Per the guard’s earlier orders, everyone now froze. The man’s face was a mask of horrified shock as he gingerly sat up, soaked with a combination of the flask’s contents and blood from where several shards had cut him.

Bianca tentatively took a step forward, and he shot all of them a steely look. “Get out of here, now!” he hissed.

Nobody wasted the opportunity. With the guards still slack-jawed, they used the moment to race out of the room, right as the thudding of approaching footsteps came from farther down the hall.

“This way!” Bianca called, and they sprinted back toward the stairwell, feet pounding on the linoleum.

Adam's heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. It hammered against his ribcage with a vengeance. His palms practically dripped. They needed to get out, they needed to get out, they needed—

‘ _BANG!’_

They all stopped in in their tracks.

“What was that?” came Malcolm's terrified hiss. His eyes widened, unblinking.

“That was a gunshot…” Ethan answered.

It wasn’t necessary though. The sound had been drilled into them from merely living in a rural

area, and the rapidly draining color on everyone’s faces showed Adam that they had come to the same conclusion as him—the man in the room had just been shot.

“It must have been the formula...” Bianca whispered, horror dripping from every word.

A lump formed in Adam’s throat, and he had to fight back his sudden protective yearning. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to let her know it would be okay. But there just wasn't time.

“Come on!” Chelsea urged, and they continued their mad dash to the stairwell, hurrying up the flight. A door somewhere above them opened and out poured a group of men.

Panicking, they raced onto the nearest landing, then threw open the door. While running through, they startled a few employees carrying supplies. A few shouts went up, but they ignored them.

Streak down a hallway. Enter another room. Scan the key card. Keep going.

However, as they rounded a bend, Chelsea ran up to a freight elevator. There, she began frantically pressing the “ _UP_ ” button.

“What are you doing?” Adam hissed. “We'll get stuck!”

“It's a diversion,” she responded, and Ethan interrupted them by shoving them hard in the back.

They continued running, the rooms whipping by in a blur of monotony. Take a left. Right. Another right. Eventually, they managed to make it back into the stairwell, where they raced up to the ground floor.

As soon as Adam opened the door, however, he froze. From just around the corner came the unmistakable sound of more guards. Ethan grabbed his arm, expression begging for a plan, and he forced himself to relax—now was not the time to freak out. He jerked his head to the side, and Ethan nodded.

In unison, all of them fled into the nearest room. Various scientists in lab coats gaped as they sped past, but just like before, they paid no heed. All any of them cared about was getting away.

Still, getting there was easier said than done. In spite of the adrenaline clouding his brain, Adam could tell that Malcolm and Chelsea were having trouble keeping up. He urged them both onward, slowing for just a moment to push them forward. It worked, and the two ran with renewed vigor, the entire group almost to the side door they had originally entered.

Then, just as they entered a new room, Chelsea tripped.

Everyone whirled around as a guard grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. She shrieked, flailing in some desperate attempt to ward off her attacker, but he just pinned her arms behind her back.

It was his undoing. The guard was so focused on Chelsea that he didn’t even see Ethan race up. Bringing his fist forward, he slammed it into the side of the man’s head.

The man crumpled to the floor.

Ethan then grabbed Chelsea's hand, and all of them raced out the side door, never looking back until they were safely seated in the blue sedan.

* * *

“Shit, that was scary,” Chelsea breathed, revving the engine as the car made its way onto the highway.

Malcolm buried his face in his hands. “We got someone killed... oh God...”

“Hey,” Ethan snapped. “Don’t fucking pin this on us. We didn't shoot the guy. They did.”

Adam nodded. “Yeah, they knocked the guy into the flask. We didn’t do anything!”

“Still...”

He turned to face Bianca, who wiped a few stray tears from her face.

“Was it worth it?”

He honestly couldn't say. A silence descended over everyone, with Ethan looking away uncomfortably while Adam tried to ignore the tension in his stomach. Malcolm didn't raise his head from his hands even though the exchange had ended, and his obvious distress only served to exacerbate Adam's guilt. _Was it worth it?_

As they drove, Bianca's phone rang. She frowned, pulling it out of her pocket. “ _Hola?_ ” She listened for a bit, brow furrowed, and then hung up. “That was my a—grandma. She just wanted to let me know that someone called the house asking if I was there. Didn’t leave a name, so don’t know what’s up with that.” She shrugged before slumping against her seat, still despondent.

A bitter taste coated Adam’s tongue, and he tried to swallow it down. With a quick glance out the window, he let his eyes wander over the scenery, taking in various shrubs and litter. A police car sat off to the side of the road.

From in front, Chelsea cleared her throat. “So... I’ve just been driving aimlessly... does anyone want to go back to their houses?”

Several murmurs greeted her request, and she cleared her throat again.

“Okay... who wants to go first?”

Adam didn’t respond. He continued to watch the parked police car. Instead of reassuring him, his scalp prickled. None of this was right.

“Adam, you haven’t said anything.”

He jerked his head toward her voice. Wetting his lips, he breathed, “I don’t think we should head home.” The swivel of heads was expected, but he still had to ignore the tension in his stomach. “I don’t think it’s safe.”

“What do you mean by that?” Bianca asked. She sat up straighter than earlier, narrowing her eyes.

He sighed. “Doesn’t this seem a little too easy to all of you? That we got away, and now no one is following us or anything? Yeah, we tore out of there, but they had vehicles in the parking lot.” He shook his head. “Hell, how did we get out in the first place? This doesn’t make sense.”

Chelsea slowed the car to a stop, twisting around to face him. “Are you saying they let us go on purpose?”

He gave a shrug. “I don’t know. I’m just saying that something is off, and I think it might be best to lay low, especially after Bianca’s phone call—I’d rather be paranoid than otherwise.” He glanced at Bianca. “I bet we’re all over the security footage, and they might have figured out it was you already.”

“What about the rest of us?” Malcolm whispered. He had finally raised his head to join in.

Ethan scowled. “Look, everybody in town knows Adam and Bianca, Chelsea’s got that purple thing going on so she’s easily identifiable, and there's like five black people in Wesley with two of them in that facility—they're going to figure out it was us.”

The tension in the car thickened as everyone pondered his words. Chelsea muttered, “Man, it was really dumb of us not to get any masks.”

Malcolm was the next one to break the silence. “So what do we do... if we can't go home?”

Ethan had an answer: “Look... obviously we're going to have to deal with this eventually. But in the meantime, my family has a little hunting shack outside of town. It's not fancy or anything, but until stuff clears up with Curtis and the Lab... we could stay there.”

“I want to call my mom,” Bianca sounded, and everyone turned to look at her. “I don't want her to worry about whether or not I’m okay.”

Chelsea nodded. “We should all do that, to be honest.”

She drove forward to a bridge and parked on the shoulder. Everyone then took turns calling their parents, letting them know they were safe but wouldn't be coming home for a couple of days.

“Adam, what do ya mean?” Momma asked after he told her, and he had to fight a lump in his throat. Even if he hated their ritual, his anxiety spiked at the prospect of its absence. He was already missing one parent. He didn’t need to lose her too.

“It... it's complicated... I'll explain everything later.” He hung up, glancing around at the rest of them. “Okay... I guess we go to Ethan's shack now?”

“Not so fast,” came Chelsea's voice from the front seat. “Smart phones have GPS. If we keep these on us, they might be able to track us.”

Bianca's mouth hung open. “What are you saying?”

“Throw them away,” was the response, to which everyone began arguing in earnest.

“Are you crazy!?”

“No way!”

“I'm not just getting rid of my phone!”

“Guys,” Chelsea pleaded, “please, this is the best option. It’s too risky to keep them around. We don’t know what’s going on, or what the Lab wants with us.”

“What about the recording?” Malcolm asked. “Why can't we just turn them off? And if we do throw them away, what if we need to call for help?”

She pursed her lips. “A, the recording is automatically in online storage. B, you really think they wouldn't be able to figure out a way to track a phone when it's off? And C, for your last question... I suggest we deal with it.”

Shifting in his seat, Ethan murmured, “Well... there should be walkie-talkies at the cabin... we use them for hunting trips in case there's no cell reception... I think you can radio out as well...”

“See?” Chelsea smirked at them while Adam scowled.

“Your car has a GPS, yet I don't see you opting to get rid of that,” he pointed out.

She scowled right back. “The car isn't in my name, and they won't be totally sure what vehicle we're using. Any of us could have been driving. Sure, they'll find it eventually, but it might take them a couple days to get it connected to me.” Her eyes hardened. “You were the one who said you’d rather be paranoid than otherwise. Well, I agree. I’m playing it paranoid.”

He tore his gaze away, frowning. Part of him still wanted to argue, but another part squashed it. _She has a point._ _You need to stop being bitter about her siding with Bianca over you at Homecoming._

Out of all of Bianca’s friends, Chelsea had been the hardest to win over, yet the warmest when he had. After the break-up, she had texted him: “ _You’re not a bad person and Bianca doesn’t hate you. I’m really sorry it didn’t work out. If anybody deserved her, you were definitely up there._ ”

The text had cheered him up immensely, especially with Bianca’s refusal to discuss a single thing, and it came as a somewhat rude awakening when Chelsea had rushed in to fling verbal daggers. The fact that Ethan kept sneaking furtive glances at her only further soured his attitude.

“Anyway...” Chelsea opened up her door and marched over to the bridge edge, where she chucked her pocket-sized bit of technology onto the road below. “All right, everybody else go.”

Everyone exchanged grimaces and then unbuckled to follow Chelsea's demonstration, albeit reluctantly. When it was his turn, a pang went through Adam as his phone soared into the abyss and shattered—easy for Chelsea to launch her phone into oblivion. For her, getting a new one was a minor inconvenience, while he’d have to beg the gas station to let him pick up more hours. Figuring out when he’d get to sleep was a bridge he’d cross later.

Once everyone finished, they loaded back up, somber at the current circumstances. Ethan directed Chelsea, and as they drove along, Adam could only stare out the window, lost in thought.

What in the world had he gotten himself into?


	30. Cabin in the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays!

The car bounced over the bumpy path before Ethan told Chelsea to park in a small clearing. Once stationary, they dragged themselves away from the vehicle, following the guy’s determined form.

He eventually stopped in front of a small wooden cabin. “Well, here it is.”

Malcolm surveyed the place, noting the lack of a fuse box and the pile of firewood stacked against the side. Did it even have electricity?

The question was answered a moment later.

“It's pretty bare bones, no running water or electricity. There's a well about twenty feet that way.” Ethan pointed off to the side, and they followed the gesture, most making a face at his information.

“It's... um... lovely...” Bianca murmured, sounding unsure of herself.

“I think it looks cool,” Chelsea stated defensively, to which Ethan gave her an appreciative smile.

He waved for them to follow him. “Well, come on!”

Inside, there wasn’t much. The one-room cabin had a small table and several chairs set up against the wall, with a wardrobe off to the side. A wooden stove sat at the back, while a few feet away hung shelves adorned with a variety of objects.

“So...” Adam scuffed his shoe against the floor. “What do we do if we have to... go to the bathroom?”

“Oh yeah.” Ethan made his way over to a window and pointed to an outhouse just barely visible through the trees. “There you go.”

Adam thanked him and hurried out, leaving everyone else to glance at each other uncomfortably in the sparsely furnished room.

Ignoring their shared looks, Ethan began pulling off cans of food and other packaged non-perishables from the shelves before setting them on the ground. “We have some emergency rations here, so we should be good on food for a couple of days. We can get water with the well, and there's already firewood chopped, so we can use the stove for warmth.” He then pointed out tools, flashlights, walkie-talkies, a battery-powered ham radio, and a first-aid kit. From there, he went over to the wardrobe and grabbed a variety of quilts and blankets. “Here's stuff for sleeping.”

Malcolm took in all the supplies, his brain scrambling to keep up. He had never even been camping. He certainly didn't know anything about rustic living.

“Any guns?” Chelsea asked.

Ethan pursed his lips, frowning. “Not rifles... we don't keep that out here.” He continued rummaging through the wardrobe before finding what he was looking for. “Here we go!” He hauled out a small safe and entered in the combination, pulling out a handgun. “Glock 17, a 9mm. And there's a couple boxes of ammo. I remember my dad always had something light just in case.”

He checked to see if it was unloaded and then stored it back in the safe. The others looked a little more relaxed than before they entered, but all of them tensed at Ethan's next question.

“So do y'all know how to fire a gun?”

Everyone except Bianca directed their gaze toward the floor, causing Ethan to sigh. He grabbed the gun and ammunition back out of the safe and ordered everyone to follow him. They filed outside, making their way to the woods.

Malcolm rubbed his sweaty palms against his pants as they walked. He glanced up as Adam joined their train behind Ethan, who led them to a pock-marked tree painted with a faded red target.

Ethan turned to his audience. “All right, first things first: gun safety.” He held up both the handgun and the boxes of ammunition. “When not in use, gun is never loaded.” He set the boxes of ammunition on the ground and wrapped his hand around the grip. “Next: always keep your finger off the trigger until you ready to shoot. Again, even if there's no bullets, like in this gun. Just don't do it. Lastly,” he aimed the gun at the tree, “only point the gun at acceptable targets. Never point anywhere you don't intend to shoot. If you handing a gun to someone else, make sure the barrel is pointed away from both you and the person you handing it to. Everybody got it?”

They nodded, but Malcolm replayed every word in his head. Oh boy, he really hoped he didn’t make a fool of himself...

Ethan straightened his posture. “All right, now we gonna go over how to actually fire this guy. I'll go step by step. A .22 would be better for beginners, but unfortunately, this is all we have, so we gonna have to roll with it.”

He moved his feet apart until he had a shoulder-width stance and fully extended his arms, both hands on the grip. “Okay, so first I'm going to have y'all practice just aiming. No bullets yet. Anyway, use your dominant hand to grip and the non-dominant to steady it. Remember, never place your pointer finger on the trigger until you ready to fire. Then you can either aim with one eye or both—using both will improve your depth perception.” He pointed the gun toward the ground and turned to face them. “Who wants to go first?”

They all took turns aiming the gun, with Ethan correcting their posture and grip as he saw fit. To Malcolm’s relief, Ethan didn’t make a big deal over his clumsy handling, and the gun passed on without a fuss. By the end of it all, everyone received pointers except Bianca, whom Ethan praised as a natural.

Once everyone was satisfied, Ethan grinned. “Okay, now we're going to go over actually loading the thing. Anyway, for this, always point the gun downrange when loading. No exceptions. This is when most accidents happen.” Describing each step as he went, he opened up a box of ammunition and removed the magazine from the gun, after which he loaded the cartridge. From there, he inserted it back into the weapon. “This is a pistol and not a revolver, so the magazine will feed cartridges into the gun. Also, always make sure the safety on when you doing this. You only turn it off when you ready to fire. Next, this”—he pointed at the sliding mechanism on the top of the gun—“is used to feed the bullet into the chamber. You pull this back to reload. This is a Glock 17, so it can fire seventeen rounds before that needs to happen.”

Getting back into firing position, Ethan concentrated, frowning. “Unfortunately, we don't have any safety goggles or hearing protection, so y’all may want to cover your ears.”

He removed the safety and fired at the tree, all of them wincing at the loud blast. He was _not_ kidding.

Relaxing his stance, Ethan pointed the gun back at the ground, the safety on once more. He removed the ammo, cleared the chamber, and then smiled at them. “Okay, who wants to practice loading and firing?”

Adam went first and fumbled a little bit with all the mechanisms. Next, Chelsea had even more trouble and gave up before even getting to fire.

“Somebody else can use this. I'm hopeless,” she said, handing the gun off.

“Well, if you ever want to get better in general, I'm sure you can come on one of my family's hunting trips,” Ethan offered.

Malcolm stifled a laugh at the strange look Adam gave his friend while Chelsea just smiled and said she would think about it.

On Malcolm's turn, he cringed when he completely missed the tree. Hastily removing the magazine, he said, “I think I'm with Chelsea. This is not my strong suit.”

Ethan nodded and handed the gun over to Bianca.

Once loaded, she aimed with the ease of a professional. Then, with a perfect stance and glimmering eyes, she effortlessly fired three rounds into the center of the faded target.

Malcolm couldn't help but stare in awe at her while Ethan's jaw practically dropped to the ground.

“Holy shit!” he cried.

Chelsea burst into laughter as Bianca removed the magazine, grinning from ear to ear.

She ran a hand through her hair. “Looks like I still got it.”

“Wait... but... what?” Ethan stammered.

“She's a Junior Sharpshooter!” Chelsea giggled at Bianca’s wink. “She's been doing this for years!”

“Well then, why didn't you say something when I asked everybody if they ever fired a gun!?” Ethan snapped, appearing both impressed and peeved at Bianca's display.

She shrugged. “It's been a year since I fired one. I thought I could use a refresher.”

He sighed in return, taking the Glock away from her and unloading it.

Content with the training, all of them decided to head back to the shack, Ethan grumbling the whole way there.


	31. Never Have I Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a Happy New Year!

In the evening, they made sure they had a bucket full of water from the well and sorted through their rations. Chelsea briefly headed back to her car to grab a backpack, and then everyone pitched in to create an improvised meal of canned veggies, cookies, and jerky by flashlight. There weren't enough chairs at the table, so they lay out the blankets on the ground and sat in a circle, passing around the supplies while a fire crackled merrily in the wood stove.

“Man, what I wouldn't give for some pasta right now,” Chelsea mused, spooning another bite of canned carrots into her mouth.

“I could go for burgers, if we're being honest,” Adam murmured.

Ethan let out a “hell yeah!” in agreement, and Bianca gave a thoughtful smile.

“My mom makes the best _carnitas_. That's what I would eat.”

“I would have my mom's meatloaf,” Malcolm said. The group gave him their attention as he swallowed. “She makes it from scratch, even the ketchup. It's just the best.”

Turning to Ethan, Chelsea wiped her mouth before asking, “What would you eat?”

“Hmm...” he paused from munching on a cookie, brow furrowed, “can it be anything?”

“Yup.”

“Then I would have a big ass steak. Can't beat the classic. And spicy potato salad. My sister makes fucking awesome potato salad.”

Chelsea nodded. “That sounds pretty good.”

“Yeah, it does,” Malcolm sighed, setting down his can of green beans. The meal already wasn't doing it for him, and all the talk of better food was just making him homesick.

“How about...” Bianca glanced at each member of the group, “when all of this is over, we have a big potluck dinner where we all bring our favorite foods? How's that sound?”

Chelsea grinned. “Sounds good!”

Across from her, Adam’s expression was a bit more somber. “What if this doesn't blow over?”

The question left a pit in Malcolm's stomach, and Bianca's eyes glistened with worry.

Ethan, however, began to scowl. “Then we save money on groceries. Come on, man, you don't need to state the obvious. Everybody here knows shit could get real. We just trying to have fun.”

A swallow preceded Adam picking at his nails “Okay... fun time. Somebody say something fun.”

“Who wants to play ' _Never Have I Ever?_ ’” Chelsea yelled, startling everyone by slapping her hand on the floor. “I'll go first!”

“Um... how... how do you play?” Malcolm asked, fidgeting. Heat arose in his cheeks at the looks of incredulity on Adam's and Ethan's faces, but Bianca gave him a reassuring smile.

“It's really easy,” she said. “There are various ways to play, but for our sake, it will probably be easiest for everyone to hold up ten fingers. Then we all go around, taking turns saying something we've never done—it can be anything, from going on rollercoasters to making out in a movie theater. From there, anybody who _has_ done the thing puts a finger down. We go until everybody but one person is out.”

Nodding at the instructions, Malcolm tried to ignore his sinking stomach. He hadn't done much of anything in his life, so this was going to get humiliating quickly. But at least it was better than thinking about getting caught. Or Curtis...

“Okay.” Chelsea sat back on her heels, grinning. “Never have I ever... gotten drunk!”

Ethan, Adam, and Bianca all put a finger down as Malcolm's cheeks burned, ready for the others to poke fun at him. It never came, and he almost blinked in surprise.

“You don't drink?” Ethan asked.

Chelsea shook her head. “Nah. I don't have any issue with it, but I've never liked the taste. Your turn!”

He cocked his head, deep in concentration. “Hmm... never have I ever... gotten punched in the face.”

This time, Malcolm winced as he put a finger down.

When Adam did as well, he noticed Malcolm’s tense state. “Dang Malcolm, didn't know you were a tough guy,” he joked.

“Yeah... ' _tough_.'” He looked away, meeting Bianca's apologetic gaze. She smiled, and her tenderness buoyed his spirit as he turned back to a smirking Ethan and slightly sheepish Adam.

“Hey..." Adam started, "you are a tough guy. You stood up to Curtis as a monster. That's pretty badass.”

He grinned, and Malcolm’s heart swelled as he sank into those gorgeous eyes...

“Adam's turn,” came Chelsea's voice, breaking him away from his thoughts.

The guy paused to think for a moment. “Never have I ever...” His gaze became stony. “Broke up with somebody without letting them get a chance to talk things over.”

Everyone cringed while Bianca's nostrils flared. She put a finger down, glowering away from Adam. “Great timing,” she muttered, and Malcolm shrank from the awkwardness.

However, Chelsea and Ethan didn't seem to be having any of it.

“Holy shit, can you _not!_ ” came Chelsea's groan.

“Seriously, what did I say about having fun?” Ethan scowled. “You wanna hash shit out now? Or you gonna play a game so we can forget about all the shitty stuff that's happened?”

Adam made a face, averting his eyes. “Jesus, I just…” His shoulders slumped. “I... you’re right, I’m sorry. I was just thinking about what to say, and it kind of slipped out.” He sighed, drooping. “I want to change my answer. Never have I ever been out of the country.”

Only Chelsea put a finger down to this, but Bianca’s count stayed the same with the redaction. Even with the conflict ended, she still sat with pursed lips, and Malcolm scanned his brain for something to diffuse the situation.

“If he does it again, you can have Chelsea ground him,” he joked, smiling as Bianca snorted in amusement beside him.

Chelsea took on a mock austere expression. “Yeah, don’t make me send you to your room, _Adam._ ”

Adam made another face, albeit a more facetious one, and pretended to get up. Ethan grabbed his arm, and he sat down once more, turning to face Malcolm to see what he would say.

“Never have I ever...” he began, wracking his brain again, “played on a sports team. That includes cheerleading.”

Everyone around the circle put a finger down, and Adam gave him a quizzical glance. “Never? Not even, like, peewee soccer?”

He replied with a shake of his head. “No... my parents tried to convince me, but I was always too scared. My dad had this dream of me being a runner and stuff—he did track back in the day—but I was never good at that either, and finally he stopped trying to convince me to do sports.” He shrugged. “If you saw me in Gym, you'd understand.”

Ethan snickered at his answer, but he stopped upon noticing the death glare from Chelsea.

She sighed, nodding. “Yeah, I totally get you. I did a lot of random sports as a kid, but I sucked ass at everything. My mom was like, ' _She has so much energy, I don't know why she doesn't like it!'_ Well, turns out it wasn't that I had a bunch of excess energy, I just had undiagnosed ADHD. Took forever for my parents to get me medication. They thought I didn’t need it because I got good grades, even though I was basically staying up all night to get homework done in freaking _grade_ school.”

“That's rough,” Ethan murmured.

She grimaced. “When they finally noticed how much I was struggling, they immediately jumped to the conclusion that I wasn’t trying hard enough. I always overheard them talking about how my older brothers never had _those_ problems. So I worked as hard as I could, just so I could make the same grades.”

Ethan nodded at her story, and Malcolm gave her a small smile.

Shifting slightly, Adam asked, “So... are you going to be okay staying out here without your medicine?”

Chelsea just laughed. “Don't worry, I have it with me.” She pointed to the backpack in the corner of the room. “And you know what...” She got up and walked over to it, pulling out an assortment of objects. After fiddling with them, she turned around, now wearing glasses. “There we go. They were getting kind of dry.”

This was met with a short, barking laugh from Ethan. “Damn, you got everything in there! What about lotion?”

“I do!”

“Great, my hands are getting super fucking ashy.”

She pulled out some hand lotion and gave it to him. Malcolm and Bianca also used some, and then Chelsea resumed her seat in the circle, holding up the appropriate number of fingers.

“Okay, sorry about spilling my guts, everyone.”

They all shook their heads before Bianca cleared her throat, ready to give her answer. “Never have I ever... told a lie to get out of doing something.”

Everyone put a finger down, and Chelsea even muttered, “I feel so attacked right now.”

Malcolm smiled at her. “Sorry, Chelsea, turns out Bianca is just a better person than all of us.”

She sighed wistfully in return. “Boy, I figured that out a _long_ time ago.” It was her turn now. She scrunched up her face. “Never have I ever...” Her eyes lit up, and she grinned evilly. “Kissed a boy!”

Groaning, Bianca put down a finger while the blood drained from Malcolm’s face. _What do I do!?_ On the one hand, he technically hadn't been the one to do the kissing; it had just sort of happened to him. On the other, did someone kissing you count?

 _Probably_. He lowered a finger, shrinking as the others noticed the gesture.

“You've kissed a boy before?” Bianca asked.

He had everyone's attention now, and a pressing desire to run out of the shack built inside of him, ready to explode at any moment.

He gulped and nodded, fighting off an urge to hyperventilate. “Well... somebody... kissed me... but... um...” He couldn't bear to talk anymore and buried his face in his hands.

Tears built up behind his eyelids as an awkward silence filled the room, causing his stomach to knot. He stayed this way, internally screaming at himself, before Chelsea said, “Well... that's cool, because I've only ever kissed girls.”

The comment shocked him into looking up at her grinning face. “Wait... you're—”

She nodded, still smiling like a Cheshire cat. Adam glanced back and forth between Malcolm and her while Ethan's face fell as he glumly looked away. Malcolm ignored the boys, however, remaining focused on the grinning girl. The sheer cheekiness of Chelsea's expression made a laugh bubble up from his stomach and out through his lips, and soon, Chelsea giggled as well, with Bianca and Adam joining in a few moments later in a confused tone.

“Wow... this is...” Malcolm wiped his eyes. “I was a little worried about how you guys would react.”

Chelsea made a face. “It's a legitimate fear. Small town in the Midwest... not exactly known for its 'open-mindedness.'"

“So...” Ethan started, the disappointed look still painfully evident on his face, “Malcolm don't like girls, and you don't like guys?”

Chelsea shook her head. “Okay, now you're jumping to conclusions.”

He blinked, and her smug smile returned.

“I like girls _and_ guys. I'm one of those mythical bisexuals.” She then clapped her hands together. “There. I admitted it to people outside of GSA. I did it. It took a lizard monster to make me do it, but I did it.”

Again, Malcolm giggled. “Hi everyone, I'm Malcolm, I'm gay, and it also took a lizard monster to make me say it.”

Still smiling in confusion, Adam glanced around. “All right, anybody else want to come out?”

Ethan and Bianca shook their heads, and Adam gave both Chelsea and Malcolm a thumbs-up.

“Um... congratulations? Yay?”

Grinning now, Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief. “Wow... that feels really good to get off my chest. And... thanks for not freaking out.”

The group offered various forms of “don’t sweat it” and other encouragements in reply. Malcolm’s tension slipped out of his shoulders. It was okay. He was okay.

Chelsea spoke up: “Well, Bianca already knew about me. Hell, she's the whole reason I figured it out in the first place.”

Bianca placed a hand over her heart, and Chelsea laughed.

“She's just _too_ beautiful. Ruined me forever.”

“I had a crush on Adam,” Malcolm blurted. _Why did you say that!?_ He clapped his hand over his mouth in horror, turning to see the boy's expression. To his surprise, Adam just started to laugh, and he whispered, “You're not mad?”

“No.” Adam shook his head. “I can't say I feel the same, but you seem like a cool person... and it's honestly kind of flattering.” He grinned, those gorgeous eyes sparkling. “If the best case scenario happens and this whole thing blows over, maybe we can hang out sometime. I remember you saying you like video games. I'm sure I could convince the crew to let you come to a game night.”

“Yeah, and my mom still wants to have you over for dinner,” Bianca chimed in. “Plus, I promised we would have a more cheerful conversation.”

Chelsea chirped, “And you should join GSA! I'm the vice-president and my friend is the president, so you know it _has_ to be cool.”

Their amiable displays almost overwhelmed Malcolm as he met each of their smiling faces, and he had to fight a lump in his throat. Part of him wanted to pinch himself, to make sure this wasn't some dream, but he doubted he could have made up _any_ of the events that had occurred over the past few days. He wiped his eyes and managed to choke out, “I wish the people at my old school were like you guys...”

Instantly, the smiles faded from everyone's faces. Chelsea bit her lip. “Did... did people give you shit about it?”

“Yeah... you could say that...”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He turned to Bianca at the question, that familiar soft sadness in her eyes.

Reassuring expressions adorned the others’ faces as well, and he swallowed. “Well... I just... I told somebody... and they spread a bunch of rumors... and then people thought I was a freak... so they bullied me out of school and told me to kill myself... and then I almost did...”

Bianca gasped, and Chelsea’s eyes went wide. She leaned across the circle, squeezing his hand hesitantly while Ethan and Adam gave him sympathetic smiles.

“Malcolm, that's so horrible,” Bianca whispered. “I can't... wow... I’m so sorry.”

Malcolm diverted his gaze, sighing, “I've always been bullied. I didn't really fit in anywhere; too 'white' for the black kids and not 'black' enough for the white ones. Everyone wanted me to be cool, but I like comic books and anime and stuff. So I've always been made fun of... it was just... way worse when people found out...”

“I can kind of empathize,” Chelsea murmured. “I used to get teased a lot as a kid. And I remember getting shit—nothing like what happened to you—but some, when a few people found out I wasn't straight.” She laughed bitterly. “Holly Chesterfield was one of them. God, I _hated_ her, but I didn’t want her dead. She didn’t deserve that. I just... why is life like this?”

“Shit sucks.” Ethan patted her on the back, and Bianca smiled at the gesture.

“I used to be chubby as a kid,” she started, laughing as she shook her head in remembrance. “People would call me _'Mexican Porky'_ and dumb names like that. I would cry about it to my mom, and she told me how to cuss them out in Spanish; that way, they wouldn't know what I was saying.”

Everybody giggled at her story as Adam sat up, apparently ready to tell his own tale.

“I had a lisp.”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “You did?”

“Yup. A _bad_ one. In grade school, I was always a bundle of nerves about getting called on in class.” He curled his fist. “Some people were mean, but since I was good at sports, I didn’t get too much crap. Still… even that little bit was enough motivation. My mom couldn’t afford speech therapy, so I would go to the bathroom mirror every day and practice words. After enough time, I eventually learned to handle it.” He once again gave Malcolm a sympathetic smile. “But it sticks with you. I'm not saying what I went through was anywhere near as bad as what you did, but I do understand how hard it is to get over that stuff. Even now, if I mess up a word, I start to panic.”

Bianca murmured, “The important thing is not to internalize it. What they did is a reflection of them, not _you_.”

Nodding, Adam added, “Yeah, if you like geeky stuff, then go for it. And you can’t help who you like.”

“Thanks,” Malcolm whispered.

From the other side of the circle, Ethan spoke up: “Seriously dude, people who give you shit about stuff like that can fuck off. Use your time to find people who won't be stupid.”

“Well, I guess I found Curtis.” Malcolm cracked a pained smile. “But he seemed to think that everybody else would just be terrible to me. Wish I had met you guys.”

“From that whole scene before he killed Joel, he sounded like he had a lot of baggage,” Chelsea said. “Like, that dog story was _fucked up._ ” She grimaced, and Malcolm's stomach sank.

“Yeah... I never really knew about that... like I knew about the dog... but not...” He sighed. “When he tried to convince me to help him out, he used my experiences at my old school as proof that no one would ever accept me. He seemed to legitimately believe this. Even before that, he was always going on about me being too fat and awkward for anybody to ever like.”

The lump returned as he stopped, fidgeting. It felt so strange to admit it—somewhat liberating, but also nerve-wracking as a silence descended over the group.

It ended when Bianca whispered, “Did he say it like that, Malcolm.”

He gave her a quizzical glance, and she explained, “I mean... did he actually call you fat and stuff?”

“Well...” He fidgeted again. “Yeah... he did that a lot. Called me a fat... um... you-know-what all the time.”

“Didn't that hurt your feelings?”

Malcolm suddenly wished she would stop asking him questions as his palms began to sweat. “Well... yeah... but a lot of the time I didn't say anything... he tended to get kind of defensive—”

“Did he ever _apologize?_ ”

This time, Malcolm could only stare at her. He finally found his voice and murmured, “Not... really... usually only if I ended up crying.”

Chelsea gaped at him. “He made you cry!?”

“Well... yeah...”

“What the fuck!” she cried. “This was your _friend!?_ ”

He had no idea how to respond. Chelsea continued to fume while the others looked away, shifting uncomfortably. The silence felt unbearable. He was causing trouble again, this time just as everyone seemed to be getting along.

Yet, he couldn't help but analyze his relationship with Curtis. There were a lot of good times... but also a lot of bad... and everything that happened in the alley...

All of a sudden, nothing made sense. What was he supposed to feel toward Curtis? In fact, had he ever known how to feel?

He realized he was swaying from side to side. Shaking his head, he stopped and cleared his throat. “I don't... I...” He swallowed. “Curtis had a lot of flaws, I get that... but still... I never imagined he would _kill_ people... it just...” Tears leaked from his eyes and he sniffled, wiping them away.

“Malcolm, you couldn't have known,” Bianca whispered. “This isn't your fault—”

“I know.” She blinked at the interruption, and even he felt shocked at the statement. “I... I know it's not... it just...” He looked away. “I guess I just really wanted a friend and he was lonely too, and we sort of stuck together out of necessity. But... he never really wanted to talk about any of his problems with me... like I said, I had no idea Joel was behind the dog attack. So now... now I don't know if I ever really even _knew_ him.”

He paused, voice cracking slightly when he resumed: “Around last Christmas... was literally the only time he ever opened up about anything. We were playing _Overwatch_... something we did all the time, and I won the match. I remember turning to him to gloat... and he was just sitting there, crying. I'd never seen him cry before, so I was a little freaked out. I started asking him what's wrong, and he wouldn't answer, but finally he tells me. Apparently, his dad was supposed to come visit him for Christmas, but he canceled on Curtis because he wanted to spend it with his girlfriend instead. Curtis called him and asked him if he could go to him. He was wondering if him and his dad and his dad's girlfriend could have a little family Christmas, and his dad just flat out told him that he didn't want to see him. It just...”

Malcolm swallowed at the memory. “I tried to think of some reason why his dad wouldn't come. I didn't really know what to say, I was just making stuff up... but then Curtis admitted that neither of his parents wanted custody of him after the divorce, and his mom only took him to try and guilt-trip his dad. So stuff like his dad refusing to see him was par for the course. I had no idea how to respond. What could I say to that? Then he told me never to bring it up again. So I didn't. And it just... I can’t help wondering what else I didn’t know...”

More tears leaked out of his eyes, and as he sniffled, Bianca's soft voice made him look over: “Malcolm... as awful as that is... it still doesn't excuse how he treated you... or anything he did. You don't deserve to be bullied just because someone else has a rough life. You deserve people who will actually support you and treat you fairly.”

She gave him a hug, and he stiffened at the action before sinking into her embrace. He wiped his face once she pulled away. “Okay...” he murmured.

“Hey... maybe we should try and get some sleep,” Ethan suggested. “It's getting pretty late...”

Everyone agreed, and the cabin dimmed as they extinguished their flashlights and the fire in the wood stove. With a bit of blind coordination, they managed to arrange their sleeping areas and then wished each other goodnight.

However, even after Malcolm closed his eyes, he couldn't stop thinking over Bianca's words. His mind kept replaying scene after scene of Curtis berating him, the sequences always ending with that deeply uncomfortable encounter in the alley.

_Why did he do that? What do I even matter to him?_

No answers came, and eventually his beleaguered mind allowed him to drift off to sleep.

* * *

Malcolm awoke a few hours later, panting from his nightmare. He could almost see Curtis' talons and teeth in front of his face. Sitting up, he folded his arms across his chest to try to regain some sense of reality.

“You can't sleep neither?”

The voice caused him to jerk.

“Relax. It's just me, Ethan.”

He relaxed slightly, whispering, “Yeah... so why are you still awake?”

“I told you—can't sleep. No matter what I do.”

“Oh... that's too bad.”

“Eh, well...” The figure shifted in the darkness and then sat up, turning to face him. “Hey... since we're both up... well, I had a lot on my mind, and I guess now is as good a time as any.”

Malcolm nodded before realizing there wasn’t enough light for Ethan to see the action. “Oh... okay.”

“Yeah, so... I was just thinking about all the stuff you said, like at your old school and whatnot... and I just... well, I'm really sorry that happened to you.”

“Thanks.”

“It's just that... I'mma be honest with you, I feel kind of guilty because there have been points where I took shit out on you, like right after Homecoming and stuff.”

A lump formed in Malcolm’s throat.

“I used to have pretty bad anger problems. It helped doing sports, and I also took up painting as a stress relief—don't tell nobody about that. But I was... a real shitbag as a kid... did some pretty mean things to people just ‘cause. I probably would have been one of those people at your old school.” Ethan sighed. “I guess... I just wanted to say I'm sorry for how I acted earlier... I guess I haven't fully outgrown everything.”

“That... that means a lot,” Malcolm whispered back, a smile forming on his lips involuntarily.

“You know... when all this is over, if you ever wanna hang out, get a fresh start kind of deal—”

“Yeah, that'd be really cool.”

Another figure shifted from amid the pile of bodies, and Chelsea's voice murmured something about being cold. Malcolm could barely make out the silhouette of the other boy grabbing another blanket off the floor to wrap around her, and he gave Ethan a wry smile—there was no way it’d be visible in the darkness.

He settled back into his sleeping place as Ethan did the same. “Goodnight,” he whispered.

“Night.”

“Sleep tight.”

Ethan groaned.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” he giggled.

“Malcolm, I’m tryna’ turn over a new leaf with you. Don’t you be testing me.”

Malcolm smiled. “Goodnight, Ethan.”


	32. The Meaning of Comfortable

The soft morning light crept in through the window, and Chelsea stirred, furrowing her brow—why was she lying on the floor?

As she sat up, the past day's events trickled back into her brain. She groaned, rubbing her eyes to try to focus. The others were also beginning to regain consciousness, and she groggily made her way to her backpack for her contact lens and ADHD medication. From across the room, a soft “good morning” from Bianca made her smile, and she wished her the same.

The sun rose higher, and now the whole group roused, blinking and rubbing tired eyes. Ethan dazedly grabbed a kettle from the shelf and some instant coffee. “Who besides me needs caffeine?”

Chelsea shook her head, but Adam, Bianca, and Malcolm all murmured out affirmatives. Filling the kettle with water from the bucket, Ethan reignited the fire in the wooden stove and set the pot on to boil. Several minutes later, mugs of the hot beverage had been passed out.

Adam took a sip, smiling fondly. “My momma... um... mom and I... we always drank coffee in the morning. Same brand too...”             

Malcolm made a face as he sipped, then handed the mug to Adam. “I... don't like it... you can have mine if you want.”

Adam accepted the extra beverage while Ethan grabbed shaving supplies off one of the shelves. He offered them to Malcolm and Adam, and a peaceful quiet descended over the shack as the three boys took turns shaving their morning stubble.

When they finished, Ethan grabbed the ham radio off the shelf and set it in the center. “Maybe the local news finally has some updates on Curtis' whereabouts.”

The peaceful quiet turned into a tense one as he fumbled with the device. Nobody breathed, and when the only return was static—accompanied by Ethan cursing the contraption—Chelsea’s shoulders relaxed. Another moment in which she didn't have to come to terms with reality. Another moment she could still pretend she was just having fun with a group of friends instead of hiding.

Ethan continued to fiddle with the radio while the rest of them grabbed some cereal and granola bars for a light breakfast. They didn't have any milk, so they ate the cereal dry and washed it down with water from the bucket.

“I'm feeling a little grimy,” Bianca confessed once everyone had finished eating. “Maybe we could take turns going to the well and washing up?”

Everyone nodded to this. Bianca went first, grabbing one of the blankets to use as a towel. Adam went next, then Malcolm, and then Chelsea's turn, as Ethan still tried to get the radio to work.

Throwing a blanket over her shoulder, she shivered in the cool morning air, her feet making soft crunching noises as she walked. When she arrived at the well, she stripped and filled the bucket. _Get this over with_.

She dunked her head inside. The freezing water almost made her spasm, and she pulled her head out hastily, gasping and shivering. She used a little more finesse with the rest of her body and, once finished, dried off. Grimacing at the lack of fresh clothes, she dressed herself in yesterday’s top and skirt, then made her way back to the small cabin. Ugh, what she would give for new underwear...

Inside, the others all huddled around the wooden stove wearing their blankets. Chelsea eagerly joined them, still shaking from the chilly cleaning.

“Hey, Ethan,” Adam called as Chelsea held out her hands toward the warm stove. “Your turn.”

“One second,” he grunted. “Almost... hey!”

The reception wasn't great, but after another minute of tweaking, a man’s voice pierced through the static. Ethan brought it over to them and then grabbed a blanket before heading out.

They tensely listened to the radio while he was gone, trying to pick out any pertinent pieces of information.

“ _A little cloudy today… zzzt… might expect light showers in the evening…”_

Nothing much struck them as important, and eventually everyone started to lose interest.

“Doesn't sound like they know anything,” Malcolm sighed.

Ethan returned a moment later and plopped down next to Chelsea. “What'd I miss?”

Adam frowned. “Not a lot.”

Now, Chelsea wasn't superstitious. She didn't believe in bad luck or omens or anything of that kind, and wasn’t about to start. But just as the words left Adam's mouth, the content from the radio became far more sinister.

“ _As mentioned earlier_ ,” the voice crackled, “ _a mandatory lockdown will commence following yesterday's events_.”

“What!?” Bianca cried.

Chelsea shushed her, and everyone leaned forward.

“ _All citizens will be required to remain in their homes until further instruction. When the police are sure it is safe, normal activities can resume. For now, all businesses should stay closed and only emergency services will still be active. If anyone spots anything they assume could be dangerous, please report it immediately_.”

They gave each other horrified glances before the voice continued, “ _Anyone caught violating lockdown may be fined. Safety cannot be guaranteed if you choose to leave_.”

Chelsea finally turned away as another bout of static buzzed—why did she have to eat breakfast? She hadn’t expected good news but... still...

Staring down at the floor, Bianca ran her fingers along her blanket. “Do you think... something happened because of us? At the Lab?”

“Maybe,” Adam murmured. “Or maybe Curtis came out of hiding and started attacking people.”

Malcolm shuddered, and Ethan frowned at everyone.

“Let's keep listening,” he said. “Maybe they'll say what happened.”

They glumly nodded and huddled closer to the radio, continuing the macabre activity.

Even with her medication and the grave circumstances, Chelsea soon found it hard to focus. In her mind, scenes kept replaying from Homecoming, from the Lab, the man, the gunshot...

She shook her head. Hopping to her feet, she then went over to the bucket, only to immediately deflate—it was empty.

“Hey,” she called, rousing everyone from their concentration, “I'm going to get more water.”

“Need any help?” Ethan asked.

She paused to consider before nodding, prompting him to get up and follow her out the door.

Outside, he offered to carry the bucket to the well, and Chelsea had to suppress a smirk as she declined. She didn't mind his company, but his transparent flirting still amused her to no end. Boys were so predictable in so many ways.

When they reached the well, she filled the bucket and then heaved the heavy object back onto the ground.

Ethan observed her for a moment before once again offering, “You sure you don't want me to carry it?”

“Yes, I'm sure. I'm perfectly capable of doing things on my own.”

He chuckled. “Didn't say you weren't, just think it’s kind of strange you'd agree for me to help and then not let me do anything.”

The response left her flustered. “Well... okay... you can carry it... I just thought...” She laughed awkwardly. “I guess I assumed you were going to be the typical jock bro type and want to do everything for little ole' me because I'm a girl.” She handed him the bucket as he made a face.

“It wouldn't be because you a girl, it'd be because you're tiny.”

She scowled, and he laughed as they started to make their way back.

“Nah, but don’t think I’mma underestimate you. You were all ‘ _take no prisoners_ ’ back at the Lab. Hell, you could probably kick my ass if you put your mind to it. But afterward, the bucket would still be, like, half your body weight.”

Her arms were already folded by the time he finished talking. “Wow,” she muttered, the word dripping with sarcasm, “thanks for disguising your dig about my size with a compliment about how I’m actually a badass. I feel so validated.”

To her surprise, he laughed again. “Ah, my bad, I didn’t mean it that way. I just suck at small talk. But I appreciate the feedback. I know I can be pretty dense sometimes.”

An involuntary smile formed on her face, and she hated that she actually blushed. A part of her wanted to throw some kind of barb, but another told her to stop acting as if he had cooties—she was being very immature to someone who didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t like flirting was some kind of crime. She could stand to be nice.

“Well...” she said, “since I'm giving feedback…”

He turned to face her, quizzical at her cheeky expression.

“I overheard you talking to Malcolm last night.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Her smile became sincere as she met his gaze. “That was a really nice thing to do. I bet it meant a lot to him.”

With a goofy grin, he shrugged. “Well... I like to own up to my mistakes.”

“It's a good quality.” She playfully punched him in the shoulder. “Definitely not one I typically associate with student athletes. Seems like you're breaking the rules.”

Again, he made a face and gave her a strange look. “Uh... there's no rule book. I think you been watching too many movies.”

“So... nobody ever tries to act super macho and tough and pretend they don't have weaknesses or feelings?” She raised an eyebrow, and he looked away.

“I'm not saying that. Yeah, people do that... but like... everybody's different. Sure, some guys put on a front... but some girls do too.” He smiled faintly, straightening his posture. “And they can do them, and I'll do me, because all I really care about is being my authentic self. If you heard me talk to Malcolm, I'm sure you heard me mention painting.”

She nodded.

“Well, that was just me playing around when I told him not to tell people. I don't give a shit if people know. Hell, ask anybody on the team. They all know I do watercolors. Maybe it ain't 'manly' or whatever, but it's me. And I ain't gonna apologize for being me.” He laughed slightly and shook his head. “I know it's cliché, but you only live once—better to spend it being you than somebody else.”

Hoisting the bucket up higher, he stopped and turned to face her upon noticing her remain rooted to the spot. “Hey, what are—” His gaze filled with worry at her conflicted expression. “Hey, you okay? Did I upset you or something?”

She shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. “No,” she choked. “I upset me.”

“Oh... uh...” He moved to face her, radiating a slight aura of discomfort as he gazed at her face, but he didn't run. “You wanna talk about it?”

“It's stupid.”

“Is it, or you just saying that?”

Chelsea distractedly ran her hand through her hair, the purple strands melding with the brown creating a twinge of unease. “Well... just... what you're saying...”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I don't know who the hell 'me' is! Yeah, I speak my mind, but half the time, my mind is a jumbled mess. Do I actually believe what I say, or am I just contradicting my parents? Do I work so hard for me, or just because I feel the need to compete with my brothers? Did I freaking dye my hair this color because I wanted to, or because I knew it would make me stand out?”

An overwhelming urge to cry came over her as she gulped, wiping her eyes while she tried desperately not to shed tears in front of him. Why was she reacting this way? She was never this candid, not even with Elijah or Bianca.

“Lots of people have those doubts,” he said. “You're not alone.”

She nodded and looked up at him. “I know. I don't know what to do about them though.” She laughed bitterly. “God, this is such a stupid thing to get upset about right now. There are way bigger problems.”

He shrugged. “You can't help it and...” His expression turned thoughtful as he glanced off to the side. “I guess the best thing you can do is ask yourself, ' _Do I feel strongly about the things I believe?_ '”

She mentally debated with herself before responding, “Yeah, I do...”

“Do you like working as hard as you do?”

Chelsea rubbed her arm. “Most of the time...”

“Okay, and do you like your hair?”

She nodded. “Yeah...”

“Well then, there you go,” he said, gesturing at her. “That's what matters. Maybe you were motivated by something besides yourself when you did those things, but it doesn't mean you don't also do it for you. It’s not always ‘fake’ to be influenced by other people.” He patted her on the back, then jerked his head toward the shack. “Come on, let's get back inside.”

Wiping her eyes once more, she fell into step beside him. As they walked, Chelsea couldn't help but admire the strange self-assured boy and his lack of pretense. What a rare thing to see, especially for someone like her who agonized constantly over identity and expression, to meet someone who embodied the meaning of comfortable, who felt completely and utterly satisfied in his own skin. Maybe boys weren't quite as predictable as she thought.

* * *

The grim expressions on the others' faces as they entered the shack brought Chelsea back to the depressing present. Ethan deposited the bucket of water, and then both of them rejoined the circle, glancing at each member of the group.

“So?” Ethan questioned.

“We found out what happened yesterday,” Adam murmured. “There's been other attacks. From what we can gather, something happened at the Memorial Rally, and they've also been talking about property damage. Places that were hit include the police station, a few stores in town, and a Sandy's was completely destroyed.”

Chelsea made a face. “Why a Sandy's?”

“Curtis used to work there...”

Everyone turned to look at the drooping Malcolm, and Bianca rubbed his arm in an attempt to console him.

“Did they mention casualties with any of these incidents?” Ethan asked, never breaking eye contact with Adam.

He nodded. “Yeah... sounds like people died. They've also been talking about people being admitted to the hospital, and we did hear some things about a security unit being there. Looks like they're not doing so hot at bringing Curtis down.”

“The guy at the Lab did mention they were willing to risk civilian casualties,” Malcolm whispered, drooping even further.

“Maybe,” Chelsea replied. “We don't actually know if anything that guy said was true.”

At this, everybody gaped at her.

Bianca gasped, “What are you saying?” Her eyes had gone wide, and even Malcolm had stopped his moping to stare.

She shrugged. “He was a disgruntled employee; he wanted to make the place look bad. Maybe what he was saying was the truth, but it could also be nonsense. The fact of the matter is, we don't know.”

“So you're saying the trip to the Lab was a complete and utter waste of time!?” Malcolm cried, and pity surfaced at his distraught tone.

“Not exactly. We know for certain they’re paranoid about anybody knowing they’re moving supplies—otherwise, why would they be blocking roads? And we know they're absolutely terrified of what that stuff is capable of creating. They didn't even bother trying to save that guy; they just shot him,” she pointed out.

“But if they're trying to capture Curtis, then why shoot the guy? He would be another subject to see the effects of the formula.”

Chelsea stared blankly at Malcolm as he finished, mind slowing to a halt. Suddenly her hypothesis didn't seem as well thought-out as she had first assumed.

“Maybe the guards didn't shoot him,” Ethan murmured. “Maybe he shot himself.”

Again, everyone glanced around at each other uneasily, with Chelsea swallowing—she hadn’t even considered that a possibility before now.

“I guess... we didn't see it happen...” Bianca whispered. “It is possible.”

“Look,” Adam snapped, sitting up straighter. “What we know for certain is that something really bad is happening if there’s a mandatory lockdown. We saw at Homecoming what Curtis could do, so it’s no surprise that they haven’t brought him down. Right now, it sounds like everyone in town is just a bunch of sitting ducks.”

“They really are holding the town hostage until they get him...” Malcolm whimpered, burying his face in his hands.

Instead of Bianca comforting him, this time Adam clenched his fist. “We have to let people know what's going on. People outside of Wesley. _Now_. We can’t keep hiding here.”

Ethan shot him a skeptical look.

He scowled, shaking his head. “Maybe nobody will be able to send help, but at least if worse comes to worse, people will know what really happened. That we were considered fucking disposable.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Ethan asked.

Nervously running a hand through her hair, Chelsea spoke up: “I... I might have a way.”

Ethan blinked at her. “You do?”

“Yeah... I used to be part of the radio club at school... helped out with the broadcasts, including working the radio. Sometimes, we would communicate with a station in Monroe; the signal was just barely strong enough to make it. I should still remember how to do it.”

“Yeah... yeah, that'd be great!” Adam's eyes lit up. “And we know there's no jammer being used because we can hear this radio!”

“Yeah!” she cried in return. The presence of a plan began to fill her with hope when Bianca raised a finger.

“This is all well and good, but there's a _lockdown_ right now, remember? How are we going to drive to the school without getting caught?”

“Go by my house,” Ethan stated, everyone now directing their attention toward him. “It's mainly small roads not many people use. You get into town directly onto Cypress Avenue, meaning we only have to make a couple turns to get to the school. It's not perfect, but it's better than driving all the way across town. And since classes are canceled, we won't run into anybody inside.”

Bianca then asked the question no one else wanted to: “And what if we run into Curtis?”

Ethan looked away uncomfortably while Malcolm turned to face him.

“Ethan, you mentioned your family had dogs?”

He creased his brow. “Yeah... what... what does that have to do with anything?”

“If we're going by your house, would you be willing to let us take one to school?”

Chelsea met Bianca's bewildered gaze while Adam and Ethan stared at Malcolm in confusion.

“Wh-what would be the point of that!?” Ethan exclaimed.

“Well...” Malcolm glanced down at his hands, fiddling with his shirt hem. “Because Curtis is scared of dogs.”


	33. Man's Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!

Malcolm's suggestion didn’t go over as well as he had hoped. The others looked somewhat intrigued, but Ethan just became riled up.

“No!” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm not bringing an innocent animal into this mess. Besides, a dog isn't going to be able to fight off a fucking lizard monster.”

“I don't want the dog to fight Curtis!” Malcolm insisted. “All we need the dog for is in case he shows up. He'll get startled by its presence, and it might buy us a little more time to get away. We'll keep the dog on a leash the whole time.”

Everyone else nodded while Ethan continued to fume.

“Ethan,” he pleaded, “please... I don’t want to put your dog in danger. And... it will be helpful for other reasons...” Letting out his breath, he squared his shoulders, the memory of Cooper freaking out on the walk filling his mind. “You mentioned that your dogs were going crazy at the trees—barking and whining and whatnot. Well, they _smelled_ him. They knew he was there, which means we might get advanced warning if he shows up.”

“He has a pretty good point,” Adam whispered, studying Ethan's face. “Please, man... we won't let your dog get hurt...”

“You can't promise that.” Ethan turned away from them, hugging himself. “He already killed one of my dogs. I ain't letting him get another.”

“What?” Chelsea rested her hand on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Ethan shook now, and Malcolm’s stomach clenched—the guy was crying.

“I didn't say nothing... back when I first told you guys... but he didn't just kill the bull... my dog, Missy... she was always so tough... used to take on coyotes... she was so sweet to people, but boy... she could hold her own...”

He sniffed, wiping his nose. “She must have attacked him when he tried to get Boris... he tore her to pieces...” He let out a small sob, and Chelsea started to gently rub his arm. “The only peace I get is knowing she put up a good fight... there was blood and stuff on her teeth, like she tore a chunk out of him or something. Hope he's still in pain from it...”

Swallowing, Malcolm forced his guilt to the back of his mind. “Ethan... I'm really sorry about Missy... but you just showed why a dog is a good plan.”

“He killed her! Which means he's not scared of them!” Ethan shouted, whirling to face him.

Malcolm shrank slightly but held his ground. “But she managed to attack him, Ethan! Remember Homecoming? The only time anybody was able to get him was when he was distracted. If she managed to hurt him that badly, I bet it's because he froze when he saw her. In a life or death situation, a few seconds means a lot!”

Ethan continued to stare at him, breathing heavily. He looked upward, and Malcolm prayed his words could make it through, could convince him of the dog's necessity.

“Okay...” he finally whispered. “We can grab one of my dogs... but we don't ever let him out of our sight, and he stays on a leash the whole time.”

Malcolm nodded, and the rest of the group sighed with relief.

With that over, they made an inventory list of their supplies. There wasn't much in the way of weapons: they had the gun, a couple hammers, and a bottle of pepper spray Chelsea carried. However, with the walkie-talkies, Chelsea's backpack, and the first-aid kit, they had something of a meager survival cache.

“Bianca should have the gun,” Adam said, and Ethan murmured out an agreement, handing it over to her.

“Thanks!” she replied. She practically tore it out of his grip, earning a surprised yelp.

“Be careful! Christ, that's not a toy!”

She scowled. “It's not loaded yet...”

“Did you check!? And also, what did I say about not pointing it at anything you don't intend to shoot. Shit, my cousin accidentally got shot by somebody messing around like you.” He shook his head, glowering. “Punctured his lung. He had to get rushed to a hospital 'cause it collapsed.”

She winced at the story, and Malcolm had to suppress a giggle as Dr. Reeder's comment about stab wounds fluttered to the forefront of his consciousness. _Not the time_. Shoving his walkie-talkie in his pocket, he followed the others out of the shack toward the blue sedan, where Chelsea stowed her backpack in the trunk.

Unlike before, Ethan sat in the front, with Malcolm, Adam, and Bianca in the back seat. However, like earlier, Ethan helped Chelsea navigate. The rest of them sat in silence as the car moved, fidgeting just as much as Malcolm.

Eventually, Ethan told Chelsea to pull over. He hopped out of the car, telling them to wait behind.

“Nope,” Adam scowled. “No going alone. I'll go with you.”

“Fine.” Ethan shrugged, and the two hurried off, leaving Malcolm and the girls to make small talk while they awaited the boys' return.

Several minutes later, Adam and Ethan came running up to the car, a gray Pit Bull bounding along by Ethan's feet. “It all right if he's in the backseat?” he asked.

“It's going to have to be...” Malcolm muttered.

Adam resumed his spot as the dog bounded inside, clambering over their laps and licking their faces enthusiastically, his animated tail whacking all of them in their heads and shoulders.

“Ugh,” Bianca groaned. “That thing feels like it could leave a bruise!”

Ethan laughed awkwardly from the front seat. “Yeah, Diesel gets pretty excited with people.”

Finally, they managed to get the dog to sit somewhat still in Adam's lap and then headed off, following Ethan's directions to school. Hopefully, when they arrived, they could let someone know what was going on.

* * *

“Okay, Cypress Ave. Turn here.”

Chelsea complied, rotating her hand around the steering wheel, and they found themselves once again in the heart of their hometown.

Malcolm stared out the window as Chelsea sped along the last couple of blocks to their destination. No one was out. Of course, that was to be expected. There was a lockdown after all... but the eerie quiet unsettled him. It wasn't like Wesley was a bustling metropolis, but one could usually see people and cars and bikes and _signs of life._

They had to park around a hundred feet away from the school due to the police tape set up after the Homecoming incident. Everyone piled out of the car to check their surroundings and stretch their cramped limbs. Then, with Diesel pulling and sniffing as they walked, they crossed the parking lot and made their way up to the main entrance of the school... only to find it was locked.

“I can't believe we didn't think of this.” Chelsea stared straight ahead, slightly dumbstruck. “Of course it's locked. God, I am such an idiot, this is—”

“You can stop beating yourself up,” Adam interrupted. “We can pick the lock on the East Entrance with any kind of card.”

She shot him a scowl. “All right, you gave me crap about pickpocketing, yet you know how to break into the school?”

“We _had_ to,” Adam insisted. “Coach had such weird practice times that half the time we'd get locked out.”

She shrugged and began walking away, Malcolm hurrying to catch up. Ethan had to tug on Diesel's leash a few times to get the dog to focus, and soon, they wandered the hallways of Wesley High.

“This is hella creepy,” Ethan whispered. “I’ve never been here when it’s like a ghost town. Hell, I can’t believe I’m actually wishing crazy Mr. Monohan was here to talk about some of his Afghanistan shit.”

“Why are you whispering? We’re the only ones here,” Bianca said, eyebrows creased together in amused bewilderment.

He scowled. “Because it feels weird to talk normally. Whatever. I don't care.”

She made a face while he reprimanded Diesel for trying to mark a locker. “Don't do that!”

Malcolm watched the dog whine—man, maybe Diesel didn’t actually have to go... but he sure did. Why hadn’t he gone before they left? _Just hold it in; you can wait_. He mentally kicked himself, then waddled until they arrived at the radio club studio.

Here, the card trick did not work. Adam gave Chelsea a small apology—“Why are you saying sorry? You're going to get us in?” she responded—before he shattered the window with a trash can to unlock the door.

“Okay, let's turn on some freaking lights,” Ethan said once they were inside. He rubbed his hands together, still holding Diesel's leash, and Bianca flipped a couple of switches.

Leaning against the wall, Adam gestured at the various switchboards and instruments. “Okay Chelsea, all yours.”

She nodded and grabbed a swivel chair, setting to work on powering up the equipment.

Malcolm watched her for a few seconds, somewhat lost, before his bladder once more pleaded with him. He ignored it, shifting from foot to foot in some attempt at alleviating his discomfort.

Bianca noticed this and asked, “Are you okay?”

While Chelsea ignored his state, he now had Adam, Ethan, and her full attention, making him feel even more ridiculous. “I... uh... need to pee...”

“There’s a bathroom right outside. Just go there,” Chelsea quipped.

Malcolm blinked at the girl—still focused on her task—and nodded. “Uh... okay.” After hurrying out of the room, he deflated when he reached the bathroom. The “ _Out of Order_ ” construction sign still hung like it had on Thursday, and he dejectedly returned to the group. “It's out of order.”

Adam tensed up at his words. “Okay... the nearest bathroom is the one by Mrs. Elon's room. That's farther away than I would like.” He gave Malcolm a pleading look. “Can you just hold it?”

“Uh...” Malcolm mumbled, shuffling his feet. While he might have been able before, his mind had eagerly come to accept the prospect of relief, and his control rapidly dwindled. “I... I don't think so.”

“Just pee on the floor,” Ethan said.

Malcolm wrinkled his nose. “No! I'm not doing that!”

“Why? Nobody's here. You not going to offend anyone.”

“That's super gross! No!”

“Guys!” Chelsea groaned. “Please, stop! Somebody just go with Malcolm so he’s not by himself.”

Bianca nodded. “Yeah, I'll go with him and take the gun.”

“And what will the rest of us do?” Adam asked, worry creeping into his voice.

Ethan held up Diesel's leash in response. “We got Diesel... and we have hammers... it's better than nothing. And besides,” he glanced at Bianca and Malcolm, “you guys won't be long, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, we'll be right back,” Bianca said.

Chelsea froze, turning to face her in mock horror. “Well, it was nice knowing both of you.”

Rolling her eyes, Bianca shoved her walkie-talkie into her jean pocket before ushering Malcolm toward the door. They left the room and then ran through several corridors before arriving at a bathroom.

As Malcolm began to head inside, he stopped when he noticed Bianca following. “Uh... what are you doing?”

“We're supposed to stick together. I won't look.”

The answer just made him stare at her, and she sighed. “All right, I'll wait outside.”

She moved right next to the door, and he fidgeted, clearing his throat. “Could you... move a little farther away? I won't be able to go if I know you're right there...”

This time, it was her turn to stare. “I guess... yeah...”

“Sorry, I just... I know I'm weird...”

“It's okay, Malcolm,” she said, her voice echoing through the empty hallways as she positioned herself next to some lockers about forty feet away. “This good?”

He gave her a thumbs-up and then headed inside, eager to get out of there as fast as possible. To his frustration, it took longer than he would have liked, and he cursed to himself as he fumbled with his zipper once finished.

“ _Hey, guys_ ,” Ethan's voice crackled from the walkie-talkie, causing him to jump. “ _Diesel's acting kind of weird, so I think you should hurry up. Chelsea's almost done with her transmission. Over._ ”

Bianca's voice sounded next: “ _Malcolm, how much longer?_ ”

Again, Ethan's voice crackled, “ _Bianca, you need to say 'over' when you done. Over_.”

“ _Ugh, fine. Over_.”

Malcolm pulled his walkie-talkie from his pocket and pressed the talk button. “I'm done. Heading out n—”

A loud booming noise rolled in like thunder, shaking the whole building, and Malcolm nearly dropped the walkie-talkie. He steadied himself before running out of the bathroom, where an equally surprised Bianca still stood by the lockers.

“ _What was that!? Over_ ,” came Ethan’s panicked voice, and before Malcolm could respond, it happened again, this time forceful enough to knock him over. He scrambled to his feet, wide-eyed and panting, as Bianca hurriedly loaded the Glock.

She looked up and met his gaze right as the wall next to him exploded outward.


	34. Surviving School

Malcolm screamed and collapsed to the floor. Debris showered over him as he covered his head, his eyes squeezed shut. The ground reverberated while plaster and brick crumbled in an intermittent cacophony. Urging himself to move, he coughed and opened his eyes, dazed. He couldn't see, his glasses were covered with dust, but it didn't matter, he needed to find Bianca, they needed to get out of—

“There you are,” a familiar voice boomed as he froze, horror flooding through him. Above him, a chuckle rumbled. “Sorry about the grand entrance. I guess I should be a little more careful making doors next time.”

Malcolm still didn't move. No matter how much his brain screamed, his limbs didn't want to cooperate. Out of the corner of his eye, an enormous, dark object approached. It lifted him gently and wiped the dust off his glasses before setting him on his feet in the other direction.

“There,” the voice cooed. “Isn't that better?”

Every mental process ground to a halt as Malcolm gaped up at the monster. Nothing in his life could have prepared him for this. No matter how many comic books or movies or video games he experienced, he never would have dreamed in a million years that the _thing_ in front of him would have been possible.

To say Curtis was huge was an understatement. Wesley High's standard twelve-foot ceiling had been demolished where he stood, grinning down at Malcolm's horrified stare. He had easily doubled in size since Homecoming, his clawed hands now comparable to Malcolm's entire torso, his serpentine tail easily as long or longer than he was tall. Even the cruel spines covering the upper side of the appendage looked bigger as it twitched.

Bending forward, Curtis rested one scaly hand on the ground, lowering himself to Malcolm’s eye-level. The new position wasn’t welcome, and Malcolm had to stop himself from fainting as the slit-like pupils drew near.

Unlike before, Curtis now had scales covering part of his face, the substance localized in a circular pattern around his eyes akin to goggles. He still had his brown hair and usual facial features—besides the reddish-orange eyes and alarmingly sharp teeth—but they were even more enormous than when he had talked to Malcolm in the alley. All together, the combination of traits at such a grotesque scale unnerved Malcolm to his very core. His voice fled his body, leaving him too overwhelmed to even scream.

Curtis tilted his head as he placed the other hand on the ground. “I've been meaning to talk with you for a while. I would have tracked you down sooner, but I've had to lay low for a few days. Still, I guess it's better late than never.” He grinned wider, and Malcolm shuddered as tooth after serrated tooth stared back at him. “I'm sorry we didn't get the van like I was originally planning. I'd offer to get it now but”—he shifted, glancing behind him at his huge body, then laughed—“don't really think I'd fit.”

Malcolm still didn't say anything, his whole body shaking as his eyes roved over the monster's impossible form. Scales covered Curtis' arms to his shoulders, with the lateral aspect of the forelimbs featuring the same hair-raising spikes as his tail, then continuing as armored plates encircling his neck. His chest and stomach were bare but transitioned at his waist to scales, which completely coated the entirety of his legs, ending with the strange talon-like feet.

_I'm really glad I just went to the bathroom._

“I have to say,” Curtis murmured, flicking his tail, “I was a little surprised when I was following your scent. I thought you'd just be at home, but instead, I went all the way out to this little shack, only to find it empty.”

Pausing for a moment, he tilted his head again as Malcolm shrank—dear God, what if he had shown up while they were still present?

“So I kept going, and boy, was I shocked to find you here at school. And there's not even classes or anything!” He laughed, and Malcolm cringed at the sight of that huge mouth open wide to reveal a hideous purple tongue. “Like, I knew you were a nerd, but for fuck's sake!”

A sliver of annoyance pricked him at Curtis' tone, and he closed his mouth, biting the inside of his cheek. It seemed silly to feel offended considering there was a _giant monster_ right in front of him, but the conversation from the night before rolled around in his mind, distracting him momentarily.

“So...”

He snapped his attention back to Curtis, whose eyes glinted.

“I saw you at Homecoming. I assume that means you reconsidered?” He waited for a response, and his gaze filled with dismay as Malcolm remained silent. “So... you going to say anything? You just going to sit there?”

Truthfully, Malcolm wanted to run screaming as far away from Curtis as possible. But that strange paralysis he had experienced in the alleyway—he internally shuddered at the memory of Curtis' attempt at 'affection'—seemed to be back, completely immobilizing him.

Curtis frowned at him, tail thumping the floor in impatience. “Hello!?”

Malcolm still just stared.

Curtis sighed, wrapping his fingers around Malcolm. He lifted him up as he straightened his own posture, and an involuntary whimper escaped Malcolm's lips as his body left the relative comfort of the ground. If he hadn’t before, he definitely had to stop himself from hyperventilating now.

Before him, Curtis’ expression had shifted to one of annoyance, a malicious smile uncurling to reveal the tips of the sharp teeth. “Come on. Why aren't you talking?” Curtis dangled him right in front of those terrible daggers, the proximity causing tears to spill from his eyes.

“Aw, _Malcolm_. Don’t be scared,” he jeered. “You’re not like everybody else. I wouldn’t _eat_ you.”

Malcolm squeezed his eyes shut again as Curtis chuckled lecherously, “Well... maybe I'll try a _little_ taste.”

Something warm and slimy made contact with Malcolm’s stomach, and he let out a shriek. Bile rose in his throat as Curtis' tongue slid under his _Captain America_ shirt and licked across his torso, leaving a trail of saliva. Sobbing now, he shook even as the sensation disappeared.

With it gone, he opened his eyes to Curtis scrunching up his face in displeasure.

“Wow... you and me both… that was... very salty... mmm... remind me not to do that again.” He used his free hand to tap Malcolm’s belly. “Guess you're just too fat to taste any good, huh?” he snickered.

Again, that sliver of annoyance poked its head out, this time accompanied by anger. Here he was, being terrorized by a creature over four times his size, and somehow, Curtis still managed to make fun of his weight. The emotions churned inside of him, boiling until a phrase exploded out of his mouth: “Go to hell!”

Both of their eyes widened at the retort, and Curtis bared his teeth. “So... that's the way you want to do this, huh?”

Another whimper escaped Malcolm's lips, followed by a heavy sigh from Curtis as he fixed him with a patronizing smirk. “I think… we’re still not on the same page here. Like, all right, I’ll admit I’m making the same mistake I did in the alley and coming on too strong. But you still seem to believe you gotta ‘stick it to me’ or something, when I’m on your side!” His expression softened as he leaned closer. “You don’t have to prove anything to me or anybody else. I already know you don’t like hurting people, that what I’m doing goes against your conscience. But, Malcolm, listen... I’m just making sure nobody hurts _you._ That’s all I want. Don’t you want that too?”

A week ago, Malcolm would have eaten it up. It was tailored perfectly for him, hitting every beat he wanted to hear—someone wanting to be there for him, caring about how he’d been mistreated. Heck, he would have given the world to hear even a fraction of that sentiment.

But it wasn’t a week ago. And this didn’t win him over. Because no matter how sincere Curtis looked, no matter how gentle he made his voice, it wasn’t going to change the fact that none of what he said was true. He wasn’t doing this for Malcolm. He didn’t want a friend. All he wanted was a _pet._ And Malcolm wasn’t going to be fooled anymore.

“So…” Malcolm croaked, struggling to speak. “Have you always been nobody, or how does that work?”

As smug as he felt when thinking of the comeback, none of it remained when Curtis snarled, the tender facade gone.

“Really? I’m doing all of this shit, and you want to be a fucking smartass?” His tail thumped the floor again. “I’m not going to _beg_ you. I went out of my way to find you, and I’m getting pretty fucking sick of your attitude.” He narrowed his eyes. “So let’s switch things up. Instead of me trying to convince you, how about the other way around, huh? Tell me… why should I not skewer you right now? What makes you _different_ from everybody else?”

No answer. Every muscle in Malcolm’s body froze, and Curtis chuckled at the sight.

“Malcolm,” came the monster’s mocking voice, his mouth splitting into a grin, “we both know you hate conflict. Just say you’re sorry. As rude as you’ve been, I’ll forgive you if you do.” One clawed finger stroked Malcolm’s back. “However, I _would_ like you to make it up to me later.”

For the sake of his own sanity, Malcolm chose to ignore the last comment, instead focusing his attention on the sharp tip of Curtis’ digit and how unnervingly easy it would be for it to puncture him. He toyed with the idea of apology but chased the thought away. Even if he had wanted to do that, his voice had fled his throat again, and he could only dangle there mutely.

Curtis frowned at the lack of response. He sighed once more. “Okay... I have to say I am pretty disappointed. I was really looking forward to you coming with me.”

He raised his other hand. As those awful claws came closer, terror filled Malcolm to the brim, and he found himself unable to breathe.

“Still,” Curtis chuckled, tilting his head to the side. His eyes glinted with a gleeful malice. “I am curious to see if you'll pop.”

Malcolm's voice returned. He screamed in horror as Curtis placed a talon against his midsection. Closing his eyes, he trembled as his life flashed before them: Mom, Dad, Cooper, Adam, Ethan, Chelsea, Bianca...

It took a moment, but the horror started to seep away—Curtis wasn't actually placing any pressure with his claw. Malcolm cracked an eye open to see him staring off into space, his upper lip raised to reveal his gums and teeth. Had he not been so terrified, Malcolm probably would have laughed at the ridiculous face, when a memory from the week before suddenly shot into his mind.

 _Flehmen response!_ But wait, why was Curtis doing such a—

“Hey, Godzilla!” Bianca yelled, causing both Malcolm and the hypnotized monster to snap their heads toward her. She stood next to the lockers, pointing the Glock with shaky hands. “Let him go!” she shouted, although her voice quavered.

Despite his better judgment, Malcolm glanced at Curtis. His skin crawled as the enormous pupils dilated and the huge mouth stretched once more into a grin.

“Well,” Curtis purred, lowering Malcolm’s immobilized body toward the ground before unceremoniously dropping him the final few feet, “looks like something better came along.”

Letting out a grunt of pain, he managed to push himself up as Curtis returned to all fours, facing Bianca. Even from his position, Malcolm could see her hands tremble and the fear in her wide eyes, but she didn't leave her spot—was she facing the same paralysis he had?

Although his limbs still felt heavy and unwieldy, he forced himself to his feet. “Bianca!” he cried. “Run!”

Her eyes darted over to him as she swallowed, and she shook her head before returning her gaze to the leering beast. Malcolm couldn't see the entirety of Curtis' face from his position near the wall, but the portion he could displayed a lascivious grin. He didn’t want to imagine what she saw from her vantage point.

Twisting to face Malcolm, Curtis winked. “Malcolm, you stud! She wants to save you!” He laughed harshly before bringing his attention back to the trembling Bianca. “You know, he isn't into girls.”

The comment made her lip curl. “I know.”

“Hmm,” he mused. He attempted to give her a smoldering gaze, which looked more horrifying than titillating.

With a swallow, Malcolm compelled his clumsy feet forward in some vague attempt to get between the two of them. Bianca needed to get away. This was between him and Curtis.

A flash of black appeared in his peripheral vision, slamming into his midsection. Before he could fall backward, Curtis' tail coiled around him, leaving him staring in mute terror at one of the razor-sharp spines inches from his face.

Bianca shrieked at his state, and again she cried, “Let him go!”

Curtis cocked his head, running his tongue along his bottom lip. Bending his elbows, he shifted closer as she visibly recoiled. “And what exactly do _I_ get if I do?”

“I... I don't shoot you,” she stammered, the threat falling flat.

Curtis didn't bat an eye as she straightened her arms, the gun pointing directly at his head. Instead, he just smiled wider. “Not good enough, sorry,” he said. “I have some ideas of my own, though, if you’re interested.”

Malcolm grimaced as Curtis raked his eyes over her figure. He could tell Bianca's bravado was receding, and she looked on the verge of tears. _Shoot him_. _Just do it. Shoot him and get out of here._

Curtis crawled forward again, this time actually prompting Bianca to take a step backward. She still hadn't run, but whether that was due to her or the paralysis was unclear to Malcolm.

“Don't come closer!” she shrieked.

Grinning nastily, Curtis did exactly that. He stopped when he reached the lockers, however, and scowled at the lack of space. Due to his size and musculature, he would practically have to squeeze to get through the cramped confines, as even proportionally he was broad-shouldered. Not to mention the fact he had no room to stand up.

Bianca seemed to notice this as well, and a sliver of confidence returned to her expression. “You afraid of getting stuck?” 

Curtis glowered at her before his nasty grin from earlier came back. “Yes, but not where you're thinking,” he purred, and Bianca's face filled with repulsion.

“Say, Malcolm...”

Malcolm blinked as Curtis twisted to give him a devious smile.

“On a scale from one to ten, what’s the likelihood that she’d die if I fucked her?” He howled with laughter while Bianca's eyes widened in horror.

For a moment, Malcolm couldn't say anything, ears ringing from disgust. Eventually, his anger overpowered the sensation, and he screamed, “Curtis, I swear to God if you touch h— _eugh!_ ”

He gasped as Curtis' tail constricted tighter, abruptly cutting off his supply of oxygen.

“Okay, Malcolm.” Curtis wasn't looking at him anymore and sounded almost bored. “Now listen here,” he growled. “We both know if you were going to fire that gun, you'd have done so by now. So either you get out of here, or”—he ran one clawed hand through the valley between his pectorals and down across the ridges in his abdomen, smiling lecherously—“you actually come up with something worthwhile to let him go. Because me and him... we've got unfinished business.” Glancing back at Malcolm, he winked once more. “Isn't that right?”

Malcolm could only wheeze in response. He was getting light-headed—how much longer could he retain consciousness? The only upside to his situation was that the bizarre paralysis seemed to have faded and he could adequately wriggle around, even if it was fruitless in his current predicament.

Returning his attention to Bianca, he willed her to shoot even as her glassy-eyed stare glistened. _Please, Bianca._ She didn't move, and his frustration grew along with his breathless discomfort. Why wasn't she doing anything? Why wouldn't she move? On that note, why couldn't he earlier?

He blinked as a thought wormed its way into his mind. Could it be... possible? It was far-fetched and ridiculous, but he was running out of time, and so was Bianca by the looks of things.

“Bianca,” he rasped. She didn't seem to hear him, and he managed to wheeze “Bianca!” a little louder. She jerked her head in his direction, and he croaked, “Hold your breath... then shoot.”

It was all he could muster, and as her eyebrows knitted together, a cold fear seeped in that she wouldn't take his advice... or that even if she did, it wouldn't work.

Apparently, Curtis felt the same way as Bianca because he cast Malcolm a bewildered side-eye. “Hey, buddy, just because you're suffocating over there doesn't mean she has to,” he quipped. “And besides,” he sneered at the cowering girl, “that thing wouldn't do shit. I've gotten shot plenty of fucking times over the past few days, and yet, here I am!” He bared his teeth, eyes gleaming in malicious delight. “So what's it going to be, gorgeous? Are you going to run off crying, or are you going to let me—”

He didn't get to finish, because Bianca decided to take Malcolm's advice. Holding her breath, she steadied her shaking hands. Then she redirected her aim while Curtis prattled on, her eyes filling with new determination. With a few squeezes of her finger, she fired three rounds—‘ _BANG! BANG! BANG!’_ —directly into his crotch.

Curtis screamed. His agony reverberated through the room as red blood splashed onto the linoleum floor below. It created a burst of color amidst the rubble, and with it, chaos.

First, the tail released Malcolm, and he pitched forward. The freedom was so sudden that he barely managed to land on his hands instead of his face.

Next, Curtis roared, thrashing his now captive-less tail into the walls on either side. Plaster and drywall sprayed around Malcolm as he gasped and coughed, grateful to breathe once more.

Finally, Curtis backed away from the lockers to clutch at his injury, which oozed between his fingers.

“You bitch!” he wailed. “You fucking bitch!”

“Come on!” Bianca cried.

Malcolm looked up as she hurried toward him. She grabbed his hand while he stared at her in dumbstruck awe, prompting her to hiss, “We need to get out of here! Now, _come on!_ ”

After a harsh yank on his arm, they raced away from the caterwauling monster back into the rows of lockers. Bianca practically flew, and Malcolm could barely keep up. However, Curtis’ roar and the ground shaking motivated him to move faster.

They nearly collided into Chelsea, Ethan, and Diesel as they rounded a corner. Ethan chose to smack into the wall instead, while both Bianca and Malcolm toppled to the floor.

“Fuck!” Ethan cried. “You guys are okay!”

“What's happening?” Chelsea looked back and forth between their terrified faces. “Where's Adam? We were finishing up the transmission when we heard the crash, and he just ran off! And after all that crap about not going alone. We radioed him to meet us by the lunchroom, but have you seen hi—”

“There's no time!” Bianca shrieked as Ethan leaped to his feet, screaming.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Grabbing Chelsea's hand with his free one, he tore off down the hallway just as a locker came flying into his previous spot. Bianca raced after him, dragging Malcolm behind her.

“Get back here, you bitch!” Curtis roared. The sound made Malcolm’s heart beat even faster. Panting, he struggled to keep up with Bianca’s pace as she ran through the halls. His lungs begged to stop, but he couldn’t. Stopping meant death.

Instead, he swallowed, trying his hardest to maintain speed as they sprinted toward the lunchroom. Almost stumbling, he gripped Bianca’s hand tighter as she called something to Chelsea and Ethan. They yelled something back, and then Bianca whirled around, flinging Malcolm to the other side of her. He flinched as she fired a few rounds at their monstrous pursuer. Curtis howled at this, and the next moment Malcolm found himself being pulled along yet again.

Half a minute later, Adam ran out of a side hallway, clutching something close to him. He grinned at seeing everyone. “Oh, thank God! I was so worried that—”

“No time!” Ethan shoved him, and he gaped at the scene behind them.

“Holy shit, we have to go!”

He spun around, and Malcolm turned his head briefly to catch sight of Curtis with teeth on full display. The monster came charging straight at them on all fours, smashing any objects that happened to be in his path.

At that, Malcolm decided not to look behind him again.

Now past the lunchroom, they made a right to go into the Commons. They didn’t factor in the taller ceilings until it was too late.

With room to stand, Curtis leaped forward. He landed with such an earth-shattering crash that it swept everyone clean off their feet.

The force knocked the wind out of Malcolm. He slammed hard into the ground. For a second, he wheezed before terror overrode any other sensation.

A few meters away, Curtis sent a couch flying at Adam and Bianca. They barely managed to roll out of its path before it smashed into the wall behind them. Lunging forward, Curtis cornered them as they attempted to crawl away.

“Fuck you!” he snarled, pinning them both to the floor.

Malcolm screamed in horror. No, NO, _NO_! He couldn't see this—not now, not them, not after everything that happened. They had made it so far, and he couldn't stand the thought of this being the end.

Holding his breath, he rose to his feet, not caring about the pain in his side or anything else. He couldn't let Curtis do this, couldn't let anybody else die.

His action wasn't needed. Diesel barked wildly, and Curtis froze, eyes widening to twice their original size. He reared up in alarm, allowing Adam and Bianca time to get up and keep running. Everyone quickly followed, traveling as fast as they could in order to maximize their head start.

They rounded one last bend before racing out the East Entrance.

“Diesel!” Ethan screeched.

Malcolm whipped his head around to where the dog had tugged the leash free, making a break for the soccer fields. Within seconds, the animal had disappeared from sight.

Ethan shrieked his name once more before Adam yelled at him to let the dog go. Guilt welled up inside of Malcolm, but it was pushed to the wayside at the loud crashes of Curtis smashing things behind him.

“Hurry!” Chelsea screamed.

They booked it across the parking lot as Curtis extracted himself from the school, shaking the debris from the destroyed walls off his body.

“Get in, get in!” she cried again.

In response, all of them practically launched themselves into the car's seats. They slammed the doors right as the monster's scanning eyes noticed the vehicle, and he bared his teeth.


	35. Scent of Discovery

Willing his galloping heart to settle, Malcolm gawked as Curtis roared and bolted across the parking lot toward them. Chelsea turned the key in the ignition and put the car in reverse, flooring it away from the building. She then jerked the steering wheel so hard that the car almost tipped. Once settled, she slammed on the brakes before changing from reverse to drive.

“Chelsea, go!” Bianca screamed.

She stared open-mouthed at the enormous monster rapidly approaching. The next moment, the car shot forward, nearly giving Malcolm whiplash as it threw him back against his seat.

From the front, Chelsea squeaked as she gasped for breath. The engine revved as she accelerated, taking the turn off Cypress Avenue at breakneck speed. A squeal filled the air from the abused tires, and the force slammed Malcolm flat against the car door. Flinching, he tightly clutched his seat as they continued to speed away. They were going over eighty miles per hour now, the world streaking by in a blur as their car lurched and jostled over the unpaved road. The drive was so treacherous and Chelsea so frantic that Malcolm actually started to fear the idea of crashing more than Curtis.

“Chelsea!” Adam cried. “We lost him! You need to slow down!”

As if on cue, she braked so suddenly that Ethan nearly flew into the windshield.

“Fuck!” he shrieked, and Chelsea babbled out a tearful apology.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just... oh shit... oh God...” she blubbered.

He took her hand in his, gently tracing his thumb across her skin. It worked to calm her, and her breathing returned to normal as she sniffled.

“Now what?” Bianca whispered, wide eyes gazing out the back window for any sign of the huge creature.

Malcolm looked too—thank God, they were in the clear.

However, he paled as Bianca whimpered, “I dropped the gun... when he attacked us I dropped it... oh no, I dropped it...”

“We'll make do,” Adam said. “It's okay... and we could always go back to the shack.”

Malcolm glanced over at his suggestion. The boy, like Chelsea, still looked a little shell-shocked, slowly curling and uncurling his fist on his leg in some attempt at equilibrating.

While it felt bad to do so, Malcolm shook his head in response. “No.”

Ethan frowned. “Why not? Where else we gonna go? We lost Diesel, we on the run...”

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Malcolm said, “Because Curtis knows about the shack.”

Ethan's jaw dropped. “The fuck?”

“Yeah, I know. But the whole reason he showed up at the school was because he followed my scent. He talked about going out to a shack in the woods, probably after we left.” He exhaled slowly. “Point is, he _knows_ about it. It's not safe to go back there.”

“If...” Chelsea whispered. “If he can track you, then we can't go anywhere.” A sob left her mouth. “We'll just have to be on the move until we run out of gas!”

“No, we won't.”

Everyone turned to look at Adam. Malcolm noted the now familiar signs of the guy's determination—the clenched jaw and fierce eyes—and couldn’t help his twinge of awe.

“We don't have to do that,” Adam reiterated, and from his pocket fished out the object he'd been carrying earlier—a grenade.

Malcolm and Bianca gasped while Ethan did a double take.

“Dude, what the—?” he said. “Did you steal that from Mr. Monohan's office?”

“Yeah... when Curtis first showed up, I ran off to get it. Took a little longer than I would have liked—I had to really work at the case to smash it open—but I eventually succeeded.” Adam pursed his lips. “If we can lure Curtis somewhere... I can pull the pin... and hopefully... maybe... it will kill him...”

The blood froze in Malcolm's veins. There was a part of him that knew things would lead up to this, that eventually it would become necessary for Curtis to die in order to regain any semblance of normalcy. But he wasn't ready to consider killing him. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he balked. “What... no! That's not...”

“What else can we do?”

He swallowed as he met Adam's gaze. Those gorgeous eyes suddenly felt painful to look at, so he faced Chelsea in the front seat instead. “You sent your transmission, right?”

She nodded.

“So... so people know now? They'll send people to help us?”

“Well…” Chelsea bit her lip. While calmer than earlier, she still trembled slightly, and Ethan again held her hand as she stared out the window. “I... you see... I knew nobody would believe me if I told them there was a giant lizard monster attacking Wesley... so I just told the station in Monroe that we were in danger. That if they wanted dibs on the biggest story of the year, they would send reporters in. Though I warned them to be careful, of course.”

Malcolm stared at her. “Only reporters?”

“Malcolm!” Whirling to face him, she stated, “It was hard enough to even convince them of that. They were so skeptical of a quarantine and that we had military troops stationed here. Even after I asked them, ' _Hey, haven't you noticed that no one can go into Wesley right now?_ ' they still had doubts.” She sighed. “It was the best I could do. Hopefully, they'll try and sneak people in... and failing that, maybe they can dig up further information.”

As she finished, the world receded around him, the others' voices sounding hollow and empty in his ears. _There's no other way_. He folded in. _It's either you or him_.

No. No no no no no no no. There _had_ to be another way. If he could just talk to Curtis, just try to _reason_ with him...

Ethan's voice broke through his mental crisis: “So we have the grenade... where you propose we lure Curtis if we can't go back to my cabin?”

“What about the Lab?” Chelsea offered, to which Bianca blinked.

“Why there?”

“Because,” Chelsea insisted, “they have guards stationed around. It will be our best bet. As soon as Curtis shows up, they'll go fucking nuts and try to attack him. Meanwhile, we get the hell out of there. Best case scenario, we don't even have to use the grenade.”

Adam nodded. “Okay... I'm down. Anybody else?”

The others all murmured out agreements, and Malcolm grudgingly added his voice to the mix.

“Before we go,” he started, waiting until he had everyone's attention. “I... I think I kind of made a discovery in the school...” He fidgeted, swallowing at the array of faces gazing intently in his direction. “When... when Curtis attacked me and Bianca... we... well, we couldn't move. I don't think it was just because of fear—even though we were really scared.” He exhaled. “You see, I have this Bio project on communication between animals... and one of the main ways animals communicate is through smell—pheromones specifically. Anyway, I came across an article that talked about how some reptiles could produce a pheromone-like toxin. When picked up by the prey, it induces temporary paralysis. I think… I think that's partially why the military has been having such a hard time taking him down.”

The others gaped at him as he finished, taking a moment to process his words. He couldn't blame them; it had seemed ridiculous to him as well when the thought first occurred. Still, the unnatural paralysis he had experienced both in the alley and at school must have been from something. He figured it was also more potent now that Curtis had metamorphosed further. In the alley, Malcolm had only experienced it when Curtis had kissed him, probably because—as stated in the article on human pheromones—kissing was one of the few times humans were close enough to detect them.

“What the fuuuuuuuck,” Ethan murmured, and Chelsea cracked a wry smile at his incredulity.

“That does make sense,” Bianca breathed. “I... I felt like I couldn't do anything until you told me to hold my breath.”

Nodding, Adam added, “Yeah... when he knocked us over, I did feel kind of weird... like I couldn't move...”

Chelsea frowned. “So we just have to hold our breath every time he shows up?”

At her perplexed expression, Malcolm shook his head. “No... that's too difficult... especially when you're running.”

“So then what do you suggest?”

She still looked skeptical but blinked as he pointed toward the trunk. “You have scented lotion in your backpack, right?”

“Oh... yeah...”

Malcolm nodded as realization dawned on her. “If we apply some under our noses, we might be able to stop a bit of the effect. So if somebody can grab Chelsea's backpack, then we'll be good to go.”

Everyone glanced around at each other uneasily as a new problem presented itself—who was willing to get out of the car to grab the backpack?

After several seconds of silence, Ethan finally scowled. “I'll go.”

“You sure?” Chelsea asked.

“Yeah. I'll go as fast as I can, because I bet you as soon as I get out, Curtis gonna show up. If that happens, girl, you gonna see a nigga run.”

She laughed and popped the trunk. Breathing deeply, Ethan raced out of the car to the trunk, slamming it closed after he had the backpack in his hands. He then quickly hopped back into the front seat.

“No Curtis,” Bianca quipped, and Ethan hissed at her.

“Don't say that! You gonna jinx us!” He rummaged around in the backpack for a few moments and then pulled out the lotion. “Okay... here it is.”

They all took turns smearing the stuff underneath their nose before returning their focus to the plan for luring Curtis to them.

“I say we just drive to the Lab and wait there,” Bianca said.

Chelsea pursed her lips. “That's fine, but we have to drive back across town to get there since the highway entrance isn't open.”

“Well...” Adam shifted in his seat. “We don't actually _know_ that the highway entrance isn't open now... perhaps we should check first before jumping to conclusions.”

Ethan nodded. “Yeah... if you head back about half a mile, then make a left, there should be an entrance to the highway... then it shouldn't be too much farther to take the exit to the Lab...”

“Everybody good with that?” Bianca said, looking at each member of the group.

They all nodded, including Malcolm.

“All right; and if we can't find Curtis, then we should just camp out. He'll find us eventually,” she continued.

Frowning, Adam muttered, “I suppose. I don’t like leaving that up to chance though.”

“He tracked my scent to get to the school. He’ll probably do it again,” Malcolm pointed out.

“Yeah,” Bianca added, “and he's probably gunning for me as well considering I shot him in the dick.”

Adam and Ethan gaped as the comment left her mouth while Chelsea just cackled evilly.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” Ethan shuddered, and Chelsea cackled even harder, once again shifting the car into gear after they all buckled up.

Slowly, they turned around, heading toward Krieger Military Lab.

* * *

Despite their pace, the drive felt relatively quick as everyone sat tensely, trying not to wipe off their lotion mustaches. Eventually, Chelsea turned onto the highway and accelerated, following Ethan's instructions on how to get back to the Lab.

“Okay, the exit should be right around this curve,” he said as the others scanned their surroundings.

Nodding, Chelsea replied, “Sounds good. Then we can wait—”

“Look out!” Bianca screamed as a huge form came rushing right onto the highway, letting out an animalistic shriek. He took a swing, and Chelsea banked hard to avoid the swiping claws. The near miss sent them careening against the median, the car spinning wildly before she had them pointed back in the right direction.

Curtis lunged after them again just as the car floored it onto the exit. Malcolm noted with horror that the road was still closed off down at the intersection before Curtis raced across the adjacent grass. Shrieking once more, he slammed his tail into the vehicle.

The blow sent them into a spin. Everyone screamed as they shot off the road, the car rolling a few times before landing right side up in a thick web of brambles. For one brief second, they all panted—amazed at being alive and relatively unharmed—before Bianca cried, “Get out! Get out! Come on!”

Everyone unbuckled at lightning speed. They heaved themselves out of the damaged vehicle, bolting through the undergrowth in some desperate attempt to remain hidden from the monster.

“The Lab isn't much farther,” Adam urged, Curtis’ roars echoing from behind them.

They finally raced out of the foliage toward the manicured lawns of the facility. “Where are the guards!?” Chelsea shrieked while Malcolm also whipped his head around to search.

“Just get inside,” was Adam’s desperate reply, and they sprinted the last hundred yards to the Lab's side door.

There, Chelsea fumbled to get the key card out of her pocket. While she struggled, everyone watched in mute terror as Curtis appeared. His eyes widened as they fell on the group.

“Chelsea, get the card!” Ethan begged.

She nodded hurriedly, pulled it out, and held it up to the scanner.

Nothing happened.

They all stared at the interface mutely before Chelsea pounded in the combination. No lights appeared, and a cold rush descended over Malcolm as the reality sank in. It didn’t work.

“Oh shit, oh fuck, oh my God.” Chelsea waved the card wildly. “Oh f—”

She yelped as Adam shoved her away. Then, grasping the handle, he turned it.

The door didn’t open.

“All right, fuck this,” Adam snarled. Before Malcolm could blink, he grabbed a rock off the ground and hurled it at a nearby window. The glass cracked, and he quickly repeated the action until it shattered. After wrapping his jacket around his arms, he cleared the rest of the glass from the edges and hoisted himself through.

Ethan scrambled under the edge to hoist the rest of them. Just as he got in position, the side door opened to reveal a frantically-gesturing Adam.

Had Malcolm not been so scared, he might have mulled over the events, but a sudden push on his back dissipated any thoughts. He raced inside, following the others as they tore through the dark corridors—dimly lit from emergency lighting—before pouring into a side room.

“Where is everyone?” Bianca whispered.

They all gave each other horrified stares, the mystery of the missing men and inactive card now solved.

No one was here. They were alone.


	36. Teenage Mutant Monster Lizard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More violence in this chapter.

Everyone huddled underneath a table, wincing at the unmistakable sound of the monster smashing into the building. Ethan's heart pounded fiercely, his pulse practically visible in his wrists. Where were the guards, where were the employees? Without them, they were stuck in a certified death trap.

“We need to think of a plan,” Adam whispered.

Despite the circumstances, he still radiated some degree of levelheadedness as he surveyed the dim room, for which Ethan felt deeply grateful.

“We should see if we can find anything useful,” he continued.

Another crash reverberated through the building.

They shrank lower and carefully crawled out from under the table. After standing up, they set to work scavenging the bare bones room. Unfortunately, after a minute of frantic searching, they only unearthed a steel cable and a broken-down cardboard box.

Bianca let out a whimper as a few tears rolled down her face, prompting a conflicted expression to pass over Adam's.

He stalled for a moment, then rested a hand on her shoulder. “Okay... not a great find... but we still have the grenade...”

A small smile appeared on her face before she redirected her attention toward Chelsea, who whispered, “Maybe there's a more open area... we can lure him there and then you can throw it...”

Adam nodded, eyes lighting up. “There's a huge main foyer. I remember seeing it on the map.”

The others murmured in agreement, bolstering Ethan’s confidence. A plan was coming together.

Scanning the area, Adam pursed his lips in concentration. When his eyes passed over a certain spot, he hurried over to a fire map, tracing his finger along its surface. “Okay... I found it... and I think I know where we are...”

Yet another boom echoed around them, and Ethan shielded his face as dust fell from the ceiling.

Curtis roared something he couldn’t make out. _We need to move._

Across the room, Chelsea held up the steel cable. “We can try to use this as a tripwire. Once he's in the main foyer, we get him down, you throw the grenade, then... BLAM!”

“How are we going to set that up in time before he overtakes us?” Malcolm whispered, casting an uneasy glance toward the door.

“I... uh...” Chelsea didn't seem to know how to respond and bit her lip.

Despite his terror, Ethan couldn't help but feel a small flutter inside of his stomach as he watched her expression. A thought popped into his head, making his psyche go nuts. _Don't do it_. _It's suicide._

He pushed the mental warning away and announced, “I'll be bait.”

Everyone gaped at him, and he continued, “I'll run out, lead him on a chase so you guys can get in position. Then I'll go into the main foyer so the plan can go down.”

“Dude, are you sure?” Adam's gaze filled with worry, and Ethan nodded in reply.

“Yeah... I'm a running back, remember? You seen me. I can outrun some teenage mutant lizard monster any day.” He stood up, rolling his shoulders.

 _Nigga, you better run for your goddamn life_.

“All right…” Adam responded hesitantly and showed Ethan the route. He then clapped him on the shoulder. “If you die, I'm going to be so pissed,” he said, and Ethan chuckled faintly.

Just as he started to head toward the door, Chelsea bit her lip again, grabbing his hands. “Please... be careful, okay?”

Giving her a reassuring smile, he made a thumbs-up despite the jackhammer of his heart. Truthfully, he wanted to hyperventilate as the building shook once more, the crashing noises getting a little too close for comfort. Oh, this was going to be bad. So bad...

As if she could read his thoughts, Chelsea's face softened, and she stood on the tips of her toes. Then slowly, tenderly, she ended his mental freak out by gently pressing her lips against his.

The action caught him off guard. Nevertheless, he eagerly returned it, not even caring that everyone was watching. All he cared about was the feel of her lips on his, the softness more than making up for the odd sensation of lotion. He closed his eyes, sinking into the warmth that radiated through his body, sinking into the experience of _her._ When they separated, the blush creeping onto her face was evident even in the dim lighting.

“Good luck,” she whispered.

Ethan grinned at her, ignoring the raised eyebrow from Bianca, the stare from Adam, and the sappy smile from Malcolm. Chuckling, he teased, “Guess you can't use that in ' _Never Have I Ever'_ now, huh?”

She grinned back. “Guess not.”

God, all he wanted to do was melt into that grin, but he forced himself to look away. He had a mission to accomplish, and if he indulged himself, he probably would never leave.

Slipping out of the room, he winced as more plaster dust fell from the ceiling. It didn't matter though. He felt like a million bucks and, for once in the past hour, the rapid rhythm of his heart wasn't completely due to fear.

He turned a bend, listening for any signs of the overgrown lizard freak. “Hey, Curtis,” he called out. “Where are you? I want to chat!”

No reply came—only the beating of his heart and his own footfalls. He tried again with the same result. _Well shit._

This silence went on for about half a minute before the ground shook repeatedly, something very large making contact with the floor. Muscles tensed, Ethan mentally prepared himself to run as he awaited Curtis' arrival.

Although he'd seen plenty of him in the school, when the monster turned the corner to face him, Ethan still gaped. Jesus, Curtis was fucking _huge_. Even with the larger corridors and his hunched-over state, it still looked like he was having a little trouble getting around.

Baring his teeth, Curtis hissed, “Who the fuck are you?”

“All right now,” Ethan stated, trying to keep a tremor out of his voice, “I ain't gonna respond if you speak to me that way.”

“Either you get out of my way, or I fucking eat you. Your choice.” Curtis whipped his tail into the floor, leaving an indentation.

The memory of Chelsea’s kiss filled Ethan's mind, and he forced himself to stay calm. “Come on, man. I'm just trying to be friendly.”

Curtis surveyed the entire area in response. Once satisfied, he settled his gaze back on Ethan. “So is this some kind of dumb trap or something?” He sneered. “It's not going to work. You might as well run off.”

Ethan gritted his teeth. Man, getting Curtis to chase him was proving to be quite a bit harder than he had anticipated.

Lips stretching into a grin, he taunted, “You telling me you can't catch me?” He lowered himself into a better starting position. “Though from what I hear, Bianca liberated you of a _tiny_ bit of weight, so maybe you faster than before.”

Curtis' eyes flashed. “Okay, so you definitely have some stupid trap planned or something. Where are the others?”

“What's it matter? If the trap won't work, then what's the harm in chasing me?”

Curtis deliberated for a moment before a cruel smile spread across his face. “I guess you have a point, smartass.”

And with that, he lunged forward right as Ethan shot off in the other direction.

Ethan’s heart pounded in his ears, and the monster thundered behind him. He didn't dare look.

Whipping around a corner, he pushed off the wall for a boost. Then he streaked down a hallway before ducking into some connected side rooms. A few seconds later, he winced as Curtis smashed his way inside.

 _Stay focused._ He zipped around a few counters, then entered another corridor and slid around a bend. He nearly stumbled but righted himself as he entered a long stretch of continuous hallway. Saying a quick prayer that the others were in position, he booked it with all his worth down the length of the hall.

Curtis crashed out of the rooms behind him.

The ground shook again as the monster raced after him while his legs pumped continuously. He was getting tired. Every breath hurt. But he needed to keep going. Despite the thing's size, it could actually move pretty fast. Every thud grew louder as it gained, and his heart seemed about ready to explode out of his chest.

 _Just a little farther_ , he urged his screaming muscles as he neared the archway to the main foyer. With one final burst of speed, he launched himself into the room, almost tumbling in his haste.

“Now!” he shrieked at the others.

They pulled the makeshift tripwire taut. With no time to catch his breath, Ethan scrambled to get out of the way right as Curtis barreled in. The momentum ripped the cable out of everyone's hands. This elicited several yelps of pain, while the monster was left standing.

He paused momentarily to stare at the chaos he had created. Then he grinned nastily at Ethan. “Told you so, fucker!” With a roar, he charged once more at him, teeth and claws at the ready.

 _Oh fuck!_ Ethan dived out of the way, and Curtis smashed into one of the room's ornamental pillars. Whirling around, he again swiped at Ethan's spot only to find he had already moved.

 _Fuck fuck fuck_. Ethan slid behind another pillar just as Curtis ripped it out of the ceiling. Panting, he raced around the other side of the atomic orbital statue, and Curtis tore it out of the ground to get at him.

Fear and exhaustion filled him to the brim as Curtis howled, eyes manic with bloodlust. Ethan managed to weave through some other pillars, but Curtis wrecked those just like the ones before.

Unfortunately, some of the debris caught Ethan off-balance, and he stumbled into one of the still standing columns. He froze at the horrifying snarl from above. As he lifted his head, dread sliced through him upon meeting Curtis’ sadistic gaze.

Just as he was sure he was about to get eaten, Adam yelled, “Curtis!” It distracted the monster for only a second.

But a second was all Ethan needed.

Heart pounding, he sprinted with all his might to safety while Adam stared the beast down. Curtis noticed his escape before whipping his head toward Adam as the boy yelled, “Go fuck yourself!” He pulled the pin on the grenade and hurled it.

It arced beautifully through the air. Time seemed to slow—Ethan watching with an open mouth—as it landed right in front of Curtis. Quickly, Ethan threw himself down on the ground and shielded his face, eyes squeezed shut as he prepared for the explosion.

Nothing happened. No sound, no heat, no horrible scream of pain from a dying monster. He lifted his head to where Curtis stared down at the grenade with a look of disbelief, and horrified terror shot through him like a surge of cold water.

 _Oh Jesus, we're so fucking stupid. Why did we think it'd be active?_ Judging by Adam’s expression, he had the exact same thoughts, while Curtis bared his teeth.

“My turn,” he snarled. With unprecedented speed, he closed the gap between him and Adam, striking him into the wall.

“Adam!” Ethan screamed along with the others, rushing forward.

Adam looked dazed from the blow, but his eyes widened as Curtis swiped at him. He rolled, not quite fast enough, as Curtis' claws grazed his side, making him cry out in pain.

“Come on, pretty boy,” Curtis jeered. “I thought you were supposed to be tough.”

Adam tried to crawl away, and Curtis dragged his screaming form backward.

“So did you come out here just because you wanted to play hero, is that it?” he sneered, flipping Adam over. He lowered his head so that he was almost eye-level. “Well guess what, you're not a fucking hero!”

Desperately, Adam began kicking the monster’s head as he snarled, opening his mouth. And then—to Ethan's utter horror—he sank those hideously sharp teeth into Adam's leg.

Scarlet spurted everywhere, and the bloodcurdling scream made Ethan’s heart stop.

While Adam wailed, the others shrieked at the sight. “You bastard! Stop it!” Bianca screeched, grabbing a piece of debris off the ground and stabbing it into Curtis' side while Malcolm hurled debris.

Rushing to help, Ethan pulled a hammer out of his jacket pocket and went straight for the huge face. The next moment, he was knocked flat on his back, wheezing.

 _Get up!_ He pulled himself to his feet, staring in amazement as soon as he stood. Curtis still had his jaws fastened on Adam's leg while the boy sobbed, but that wasn't what made him pause. Rather, it was the fact that the contusions and marks his hammer had left were rapidly _disappearing_. The skin melded together all on its own accord.

Soon, it returned to the original color, leaving the area unblemished as if no injury ever occurred at all. The man from the Lab's words came rushing back to him, and his morale crumbled at the implication—Curtis could heal almost instantaneously. From the looks on the others' faces, they were realizing the same thing.

Gritting his teeth, Ethan charged forward again. It didn't matter; Adam was his best friend in the whole fucking world, and he wasn't about to stand there and let him die. He swung the hammer wildly, doing his best to stay out of reach of Curtis' claws. Unfortunately, he wasn't watching for his tail, which sent him careening across the floor.

Spitting out a globule of blood, he rose to his feet once more. He watched helplessly as the previously distracted Curtis—having swatted all his attackers away—returned his full attention to Adam.

Shaking his head from side to side, Curtis bit down harder. A sickening ‘ _crunch!_ ’ filled the air as Adam's screams became far more hysterical.

Rage seared through Ethan as he charged again, shrieking out a battle cry.

Just as he did this, Chelsea popped out of nowhere with her can of pepper spray. Launching herself toward Curtis’ enormous face, she sprayed the substance into his eyes.

He dropped Adam as he howled. Rearing up, he thrashed his tail into several more pillars.

“Adam!” Ethan cried out, racing over and grabbing the injured boy under his armpits. Tears streamed down his face, but he didn't care, he needed to get Adam away, needed to do something to stop the blood from gushing—

“Watch out, Ethan!”

At Chelsea’s warning, he looked up to meet Curtis’ frenzied gaze. The monster’s muscles tensed in preparation to lunge. He let out an animalistic shriek, swinging his tail and knocking down yet another pillar. Which shouldn't have been that big a deal, as most of them were purely ornamental.

Most of them, that is. Not all.

Part of the ceiling caved in on Curtis, and he shrieked yet again, flailing in distress. Bianca screamed at all of them to take cover, and Ethan panicked before Chelsea helped him pull Adam away from the destruction.

More ceiling rained down on them as Curtis snarled, shaking off debris as it fell. “Oh good,” he grinned upon noticing them gather around Adam, “everybody all in one pl—”

The floor gave out before he could finish his sentence. Curtis tumbled to the level below, leaving an earth-shattering ‘ _BOOM!’_ in his wake.

Above, Ethan shrieked as he held on to Adam for dear life, but try as he might to combat the sloped floor, he slid toward the hole. His breath caught in his throat as he became certain he was going to fall.

He released it when Chelsea and Bianca grabbed both him and Adam. With their help, he pulled Adam to safety.

“You saved them!” Malcolm sobbed at the girls, rushing forward. “That was amazing! You saved—”

The crack of the unstable ground cut him off. Toppling forward, he vanished into the pit while Ethan and the others could only shout his name in vain.


	37. Die on Your Own Terms

Malcolm screamed the whole way down. His stomach felt like it was plummeting through his feet before he slammed into something firm and warm, then bounced onto the floor.

Pain shot through his body. He lay there for a moment, trying to regulate his breathing. Everything ached, but a hot pulse in his left ankle took the cake. Groaning, he raised his head, flinching as a sharp sting appeared in his cheek.

 _Where am I? What happened?_ The last thing he remembered was Curtis and the others and—Adam!

His eyes shot open, and he looked around frantically. Unfortunately, the destruction had knocked out the emergency lighting in the room he currently occupied, leaving it too dark to see.

He waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust, then sucked in a horrified breath.

He lay right next to the prone form of Curtis, his head just a foot away from him.

 _Is he dead?_ At the slow rise and fall of Curtis' chest, he decided no—better get away before the monster recovered and finished him off.

It took all of his strength to get to his feet, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out when he tried to put weight on his left leg. After a couple attempts, he managed to get a shuffling limp going. He looked upward, trying to pinpoint any noise that could lead him to everyone. Eventually, he made out the sounds of crying individuals and a few words: “ _Adam_ ,” “ _dying_ ,” “ _hospital_ ,” and “ _blood_.”

A cold shiver passed through him—Adam needed help. He couldn't stay here or he would surely die. Glancing back as Curtis shifted, Malcolm trembled, helplessness settling in like an old friend. What could he do? There was no way he could take Curtis on his own... but Adam... the others... they needed to get out of here.

Tears crept unbidden down his face as guilt welled up inside of him. Why had he spilled the formula? This was all his fault; it was only fair he'd be stuck down here with Curtis. He deserved to—

_No._

He clenched his fists.

_No!_

This wasn't his fault. Sure, he spilled the formula. Sure, he didn’t tell anyone about it. Sure, he failed to warn everyone in time at the dance.

But he wasn’t the one who insisted to go into the Restricted Area. He wasn’t the one who picked up the beaker. He wasn’t the one who refused to go to a doctor. He wasn’t the one who decided to murder his classmates at Homecoming. He hadn't wanted any of that to happen, and maybe he could have done a little more in the beginning, but none of this was his doing. If he was going to die, it wouldn't be because he deserved it.

It would be because he wanted to save his new friends. It would be because they deserved to live. It would be because he genuinely cared about them.

Staring down at his hands, he brought them to the horribly stained _Captain America_ T-shirt. He traced the shield emblazoned on his chest as he closed his eyes, tears seeping out from behind the lids.

 _I'm going to die_. He sniffled. _But it's okay. Because I'll be doing the right thing._

He opened his eyes once more, and fear crept in as Curtis weakly struggled to get up. Setting his jaw, he solidified his stance despite the emotion— _But_ _I'm going to die on my terms, you monster. I am never letting you keep the bone again._

Hobbling away, he formed a plan. “Guys!” he called out.

“Malcolm!” Bianca shrieked, relief evident in every syllable. “Oh thank God! Don't worry, we’ll figure out how to get you out of the—”

“I'm not leaving here, Bianca.”

Silence followed his comment, and he swallowed, forcing himself to stay resolute. “All of you need to get out. I'm going to lure Curtis deeper in. This place has a lot of floors, so hopefully I should buy all of you enough time.”

“What!? Malcolm, no!”

“It's okay. I'm okay with this.” His voice trembled as he choked out, “C-can you tell my mom and dad I love them?”

“Malcolm!”

“Goodbye, guys.” He wiped his nose. “I'm glad I met all of you.”

With that, he continued to put distance between him and Curtis as they screamed his name, fighting the lump in his throat. He didn’t stop moving, only pausing to grab a sharp steel rod from amid some of the rubble. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

When he had a decent head start, Malcolm once again faced Curtis. A chill seized him as the beast rose to his feet, eyes locked directly onto him.

“Why,” Curtis said, dragging out the word, “are you going to sacrifice yourself for _them?_ ”

“Because they're my friends,” he stated, trying to sound defiant even though he couldn't stop shaking.

A harsh laugh came from Curtis’ throat, and he sneered. “They don't fucking care about you. As soon as everything was over—assuming you all made it out alive—they would drop you at a moment's notice. They wouldn't want to be seen with you.”

“They wouldn't do that!”

“Yes, they would, Malcolm!” He thumped his tail against the ground before his expression turned pleading. “I'm trying to help you. Stop siding with them over me, okay? I'm your friend, I'm just trying to look out for—”

“Stop it!” The scream tore out of Malcolm’s mouth without him even realizing, and suddenly he was sobbing, shoulders shaking as he cried, “You're not my friend! You literally tried to kill me!”

Curtis bared his teeth. “Because you won't listen to me! And I... I wasn't going to do it, I was just trying to scare you... make you say the right thing…”

“’ _The right thing?_ ’” Malcolm couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice even if he had tried. Glaring, he wiped his eyes and hissed, “So it's okay to do that kind of stuff to me... because I didn't _listen?_ ”

“You don't... don't...” Curtis scowled, flicking his eyes over to the hole in the ceiling before meeting Malcolm's gaze once more. “Fine. Do whatever you want. I was going to go after them anyway.”

“You leave them alone! If you're going after anybody, it's me, you hear that!”

He cocked his head. “Why are you so desperate to do this? I don't want to hurt you—”

“I don't give a damn about what you want!”

The expletive surprised them both, with Curtis actually looking taken aback.

Malcolm took a shaky breath. “I... I know I can't beat you. We both know that. I'm not asking you to do this because I think I'll win.” His gaze hardened. “But if you’re really on my side, then one favor can’t be _too_ hard? After all…” He lifted his chin. “Real friends are there for each other… right, Curtis?”

They stared at each other, Curtis with bared teeth and him with squared shoulders, the seconds ticking by in agonizing silence. One blink. Two. An eternity.

Finally, Curtis growled, “You're fucking stupid, you know that? I'm just going to track them down after I finish things with you. But if this is what you really want”—he grinned, his eyes piercing straight into Malcolm's soul—“then I'll do it. Anything for you, _Malcolm_."

As soon as Curtis spat out his name, Malcolm limped as fast as he could into a hallway. His mind raced a thousand miles an hour. A rumble echoed as Curtis moved into a haphazard run, and Malcolm’s heart pounded erratically.

Out of the initial room, he once again had to adjust his eyes to a different level of brightness. The emergency lights cast everything in an eerie glow, and he moved randomly until he spotted a painted sign with an arrow that read, “ _ELEVATOR_.”

Adam's observation from a couple days ago— ** _“How come some elevators go down farther than others?”_** —resurfaced. Did this one reach all the way down? There wasn’t enough time to find another.

He hurried in the direction the arrow pointed, wincing at the thunderous footsteps from behind. If he could make it in, hopefully Curtis would follow him down to the bottom floor. While the confinement was dangerous, in his current condition, he needed all the help he could get.

He pounded the “ _DOWN_ ” arrow upon arriving. A prayer issued forth just as desperate as his motions—please let him get in before Curtis caught up with him. Please let the elevator be operational.

When the doors opened, he cried out of gratitude. He limped inside, then slammed both the bottom floor button and “ _DOOR CLOSE_ ” repeatedly.

Glancing up, he almost screamed as Curtis entered the nearby stretch of hallway. The monster noticed him in the elevator and roared, charging forward.

Malcolm catapulted himself backward as the doors closed. The enormous freight elevator made a gentle swooshing noise as it descended, and he flinched at its cheerful ‘ _ding_.’ Blinking a few tears away, he had to take several deep breaths before he could shakily climb to his feet. Now he just had to wait for Curtis to meet him at the bottom.

_And what if Curtis doesn’t follow you?_

With a shake of his head, he cleared the thought from his brain. No time for doubts—he’d made his decision.

He had just leaned against the far wall when a horrific screech sounded from above him.

He froze.

Staring upward, he held his breath as the screech intensified. It continued for about a minute, steadily growing higher-pitched until quiet settled. However, this didn’t relieve him. Instead, his heart nearly stopped at what it was—Curtis had bent the external doors open to enter the shaft.

Something huge slammed into the roof of the elevator. It caved inward, and the impact knocked Malcolm over.

His eyes darted over to the weight limit listed on the wall: " _8,000 pounds_." Who knew how much Curtis weighed at this point, and the likely possibility that it was too much made his pulse race even faster.

Another awful noise filled the area. Malcolm’s eyes, barely able to focus, darted toward the ceiling. His mouth hung open as claws scratched at the roof. With trembling hands, he pointed the steel rod skyward while the hideous scraping noise carried throughout the entire contraption.

A moment later, a cruel talon pierced through. It gradually widened the hole, and Malcolm scooted as far away as possible, still staring open-mouthed.

It took every fiber of his being not to scream when an enormous, red eye became visible. It met his gaze before disappearing from sight. Tears rolled down his face, and he prayed for a miracle, _please_.

His lips stopped moving, however, as the shuffling noises from the roof were followed by a sickening silence. Shaking, he could only stare with bated breath, every muscle in his body tense from fear.

A massive scaly arm shot out of the hole so fast that he almost threw the steel rod.

This time, he did scream in horror as the claws swiped and clutched at the air. Curtis managed to fit more of his arm through, and Malcolm dropped flat on the floor. Breathing heavily, he swallowed vomit, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest as the tips of those horrible talons came within inches of his face.

There was a frustrated growl, and the arm withdrew. A few seconds later, the elevator bounced upward as Curtis' weight vanished.

Still on edge, Malcolm waited a couple seconds before crawling underneath the hole to see what had occurred. Above, Curtis scaled the sides of the shaft and then pulled himself through the ruined external doors.

Malcolm was safe. For now.

Hyperventilating, he wept a few frantic tears, then clutched the steel rod closer to himself. He still had a long way to go, and he doubted Curtis would give up that easily.


	38. Victim No Longer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for threats of sexual violence. No actual sexual violence, but it could still be uncomfortable for people.

Bianca’s heart felt like it would never stop racing, even after the building had settled.

She and Chelsea clung to Adam, and the only sounds amidst the faint crumbling were his slow moans of pain. Bianca couldn’t comprehend everything just happened—Adam, Malcolm, the building...

“Oh God... Adam...” Chelsea whispered, and Bianca forced herself to examine his leg.

She immediately wished she hadn't. Turning her head away, she fought the urge to vomit at the mangled limb.

“He's dying...” Chelsea choked back tears as Ethan gritted his teeth.

He wiped his eyes. “We'll get him to a hospital. Maybe your car still works.”

“So much blood...” Chelsea continued to whisper.

Bianca let out a sob of her own, shoulders shaking as she tried to piece the fragments of her mind together. Was this actually _real?_

Malcolm’s yell interrupted their pity party, and Bianca nearly choked at hearing his voice. However, his next statements made all of them turn to each other in horror. Even their frantic screams didn't deter him, and fresh panic rose in response.

“What is he doing!?” Chelsea shrieked. “He's going to get himself killed! We have to do something! We can't just let—”

“What about Adam?”

Ethan's question caused her to sniffle while he stared hopelessly at the hole. “I don't want to leave Malcolm down there either... but...” He winced and ripped up his jacket, wrapping it around Adam's thigh as a tourniquet. “Maybe... after I help you get Adam to the car... then...”

“I'll help Malcolm,” Bianca insisted, exhaling slowly. “Both of you stay with Adam. Carry him to Chelsea's car—hopefully, you can get it to work—and don't come back.”

Chelsea opened her mouth to protest, but Bianca shook her head, ponytail flinging about at the motion. “No! I would stay with Adam too... but I will hate myself forever if I just leave Malcolm down there.”

Ethan and Chelsea exchanged a glance as she finished. Running a hand through her hair, Chelsea took a deep breath. She then wrapped Bianca in a hug. “Please be safe,” she whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Bianca whispered back.

When they separated, Ethan gave her a nod. She reached toward him, and he pulled her in for a hug as well.

Once she let go, she bit her lip and stared down at Adam's face. He seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness. She grasped his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. It might have been her imagination, but it felt like he squeezed back.

“Hang in there, Adam.” Tears once more trickled down her cheeks, and she choked, “I'm so sorry about... about everything...”

She wanted to say more, but her throat constricted. A loud booming noise practically rocking the unstable floor also didn’t help.

Wiping her eyes, she rose to her feet and gave one last farewell nod to Ethan and Chelsea as they hoisted Adam up to be carried.

“Good luck,” Ethan murmured, and Bianca returned the wish in kind. “Here; take this.” He handed her his hammer, and she willed her arm to stop shaking.

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she swallowed, lifting her chin. She zig-zagged around the debris in the room until she entered one of the building's many corridors. While she gathered her bearings, another booming noise rolled in, causing her to grit her teeth.

_Follow the destruction to get to the giant asshole._

At that thought, she broke into a run, pausing occasionally at the various noises. Eventually, she stopped and surveyed her surroundings. She had to get off this floor, which meant she needed to find a stairwell.

 _Please be okay, Malcolm._ She said a quick prayer as she resumed her earlier pace. Just as she rounded a bend, however, a terrible screeching noise made her cringe and cover her ears. What in the world was that!? The sound continued for some indeterminate length, and then a loud crash made her stumble.

It sounded like... the elevator!? _Malcolm! Why!?_ Why had he done such a thing? He had basically just trapped himself!

Listening intently, Bianca scowled—she had no idea where they were.

She followed a few signs to the elevator and stared up at the digital display above the contraption. Okay... she was currently on G... and the elevator said L2. _Time to find that stairwell._

Another loud crash made her brace herself against the wall. Shaking her head, she took a couple of deep breaths before sprinting into an adjoining hallway. The booming noises continued, growing louder the farther she ran, but she gritted her teeth again, forcing herself to keep going.

She zoomed past the stairwell when it finally did appear. As the letters flashed by her eyes, she skidded to a halt before backtracking. Flinging the door open, she then launched herself inside.

In her haste, she actually made it to the landing between G and L1 before she even registered the other presence. She slammed into the railing and screamed, the impact causing her to drop the hammer. It clattered and clanged all the way down the stairwell. Clutching the railing, she shivered as Curtis—situated a few levels below—fixed her with an ugly stare and bared his teeth.

Neither broke eye contact. Curtis raised himself a little higher, growling when not quite tall enough to reach the landing, while Bianca could only watch the motion with rapt attention. Even with the lotion, the proximity to the monster made her limbs feel like jelly as her breaths came in short, sharp pants.

_Move!_

Oh Lord, she wanted to so badly, but he was so close... so close... she would have to run upward to get back onto the main level... and those teeth...

_Just do it!_

The thought spurred her to action. She bolted up the stairs, biting back a scream as Curtis let out a bestial roar. Sprinting down the corridor, she whipped her head back and forth to find viable escape routes. Curtis getting closer made her panic, and she ran into the closest room, dodging around built-in counters and passing by a row of lockers as she headed toward the far end.

When she reached it, she wanted to cry in defeat. No door! There wasn't another door! This room wasn't adjoining! She was stuck! She was stuck! Oh God, she was stuck!

Curtis thudded right outside.

Fear seized her, leaving her staring at the wall, frozen. However, her brain screamed at her once more, and she snapped back into action. Throwing open every cupboard door she could find, she prayed she would find a weapon. Nothing. Every single one was empty.

 _There has to be something._ She frantically scanned the room for a weapon, or something, _anything._ Her eyes fell on a fire extinguisher. Racing forward, she ripped it off the wall right as Curtis plowed into the room.

Even though the debris exploded around her, Bianca held her ground. Willing her trembling hands to steady, she released the pin, aiming the hose upward. She pulled the trigger.

“ _Argh!_ ”

Curtis spluttered and coughed as she sprayed the white foam right in his giant face. He thrashed his tail while she flicked her gaze to the exit behind him. Once finished with the canister, she hurled the object as hard as she could, then tried to dash underneath the distracted beast.

She could see the hallway. She was almost there, just a little more rubble in the way and then— _tail!_

The blow sent her skidding, knocking her head against the ground. Stars danced in front of her vision. She couldn't breathe. Everything spun and whirled, and she wanted to vomit even as she shut her eyes. When she opened them, the huge, bloody face staring back almost made her cry.

Bianca attempted to leap to her feet only to find something held her down. She flailed desperately, but nevertheless, Curtis' hand still pinned her to the floor. After several seconds of fierce struggle, she went limp, gazing hatefully up at him.

Curtis lowered his head. “Not so tough without a fucking gun now, are you?”

She didn't respond, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of just how _terrified_ she really was. Instead, she gave him her best death glare.

He cocked his head at her silence, grinning. “What? No comeback? No witty retort?” He curled his lip while his eyes flashed. “Where's all that fight you showed at the school, hmm? Come on, Bianca,” he taunted. “Can’t you at least pretend? It's not any fun if you're not even trying.”

Bianca still kept her mouth shut, her heart pounding a million miles an hour.

Above her, Curtis' mocking expression slowly began to fade, instead replaced by bewilderment. “What the fuck is this?” He leaned closer after shifting into a pseudo-squat. Then, lifting his free arm, he used a claw to poke at her lotion mustache while she flinched.

Tilting her head, she attempted to get away from his probing, but he wiped the stuff off, nonetheless. Panic settled in her stomach as the familiar paralysis crept in.

Curtis inspected the lotion with wide eyes. “The fuck?” he murmured, rubbing the stuff in-between his claws. “You decide you wanted to wear some last minute face cream or some shit?” Facing her again, he gave a disbelieving look before it morphed into a nasty smile. He lowered his head to sneer at her: “Or is it just some really fruity-smelling jizz?”

Bianca held her breath and spat at him. Unfortunately, she missed. The stuff fell back down and splattered across her cheek, making her wince and Curtis blink.

“Well, now...” he chuckled, “that's more like it.” His smile grew wider, revealing his blood-stained teeth—blood from _Adam_ , still fresh and disturbingly red. Shifting his position once more, he purred, “Here, let me get that for you” before bringing his face to hers.

 _No!_ She whimpered as his tongue swiped across her collarbone, up her neck, and then to her cheek in one disgusting stroke. Tears trickled down her face as he drew back, eyes glinting in the low light.

“You know, I was so mad about that whole gun thing that I chased you with the plan of tearing you limb from limb. But seeing you up close...”

She turned her head away—as much as the paralysis would allow—as his eyes flickered over her form.

He breathed, “God, you are so fucking beautiful...”

A shudder went through her as he nuzzled her hair, stroking a claw along the length of her face.

“It does seem like a bit of a waste...” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Because, like... _holy shit_ , just fucking _look_ at you.” He caressed her neck, dipping slightly below her neckline before returning to her collarbone. The sensation made her want to squirm, and the urge only intensified at the hungry look he gave to her breasts.

Running that sickening tongue along his bottom lip, he redirected his gaze back to her face, where his eyes hardened. “But then again...” He bared his teeth. “That really fucking _hurt._ ”

 _Good_.

Frowning, he glanced off to the side with a perplexed expression. “As much as I'd like gutting you...” He faced her once more and cocked his head, that evil smile from earlier returning. “I can think of something that’s a bit more suitable... and more fun.”

Her skin crawled as he traced a claw over her chest, across his hand, then down to the start of her thighs.

“So, gorgeous, what do you say?” He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Wanna see if I fit?”

She _screamed_. It tore out of her mouth without her even realizing, her heart hammering against her ribcage. She flailed, every single instinct inside her shrieking ‘ _get away!_ ’ Digging her nails into the hand holding her prisoner, she hoped, no, _begged_ it would withdraw.

Despite her desperation, Curtis weathered the attack easily, and eventually Bianca ceased her struggle. She sucked in a breath. Before the paralysis could set in, she closed her legs tightly and began to sob. All she could do now was pray she’d wake up.

Curtis howled with laughter. “Now there's the reaction I was looking for! Knew you couldn't keep up the silent act forever.” He leaned closer and cooed, “Don't worry, I wasn't actually going to do anything. I just wanted to fuck with your head.” He grinned wider. “Besides, we'd have to rush right now, and our first time should be special, don't you think?”

She couldn't respond, too horrified to say anything.

Still grinning, Curtis closed his fingers around her torso and lifted her in the air. Bianca whimpered at the sensation of weightlessness. All her limbs splayed, she hung there as he scanned the room—dear God, what was he looking for?

His eyes lit up at the sight of the lockers. With one quick pull, he ripped off the corner locker's door, then shoved her inside as if she were a ragdoll.

The motion scraped her arm. However, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't even flinch, her entire body immobilized.

Curtis grunted and then something cracked. A moment later, he leaned one of the counters against the locker's opening.

“Hang tight,” he practically sang. “I'll be back shortly.”

And with that, he lumbered away, leaving her shivering in the dark, confined space.

* * *

A few seconds after he left, mobility returned to Bianca's limbs. She threw herself against the counter, pushing and shoving while she screamed.

It wouldn't budge.

She kicked it and rammed her side against it, but for all her efforts she gained nothing.

Finally, her shoves and kicks turned to weak, half-hearted attempts as her morale crumbled, and she slid against the back of the locker into a desolate mess. She couldn't get out. She couldn't get out, and now he was going to kill Malcolm, and then he would come back for her, and _then—_

A wail escaped her lips, her mind refusing to imagine any further. She buried her head in her hands, too grief-stricken to even stand. All she had wanted was to finally face something head-on. She always made excuses as to why she couldn't confront someone, why she couldn’t cause conflict, why she couldn't talk to Adam... and now he was probably going to die, and she was trapped in a locker. Why did she think she could possibly save Malcolm? She couldn't even save herself!

Bianca sniffled as her own misery burned itself out, leaving her drained. The distant screech of metal echoed outside, and she closed her eyes, wishing she could do something. She hated this. It was the same helpless feeling she'd experienced when she found out Mamá's diagnosis—watching her suffer every day, knowing that despite her best efforts she couldn't save her from her pain and sickness.

 **“ _You should go have fun tonight_ ,”** Mamá had said one Saturday, eyes crinkling at the corners. **“ _You don't have to stay in for me.”_**

 **“ _But I want to stay with you,”_** she had protested, and Mamá laughed.

**“ _Oh, mi bella. No sé qué hice para merecerte.”_**

She had smiled. **“ _You don't have to do anything to deserve me._ ”**

The memory faded as Bianca shivered, tears leaking out once more. _I should have said a proper goodbye. Back when I called her, I should have said more..._

Again, she broke down, leaning her hot forehead against the cool metal of the locker as she wept. Regret after regret piled up— Mamá, Adam, Malcolm... there was nothing she could do. She had fought and failed, and now there was nothing to do but give up...

Mamá 's voice once again crept into her consciousness: **“ _I'm not giving up, no matter what. This will not beat me.”_**

 ** _“I know...”_** she had whispered. It had been a bad day. Mamá couldn’t stop throwing up. **“ _But... if...”_**

 ** _“Whatever happens, happens,_ ”** Mamá had said. **“ _I can either choose to complain and suffer, or I can make the best of my situation. Maybe it won't go the way I wanted, but I won't go down without a fight.”_** She had smiled at Bianca. **“ _We can’t choose what happens to us, but we can choose how we deal with it. Whether you're a victim or not is all dependent on how you look at it.”_**

It was all about choice.

Bianca once again gazed around her at the dark metallic walls, a fire starting in her belly.

It was all about _choice_.

Whether she wanted to be a victim or not was up to her. And maybe she couldn't escape. Maybe she really was stuck. But she sure as hell wasn't going to sit here and not try to get out, because no matter how much Curtis tried to provoke and frighten and disgust her, she wasn't his victim.

Images flashed through her mind of the day he'd propositioned her at her locker, of Homecoming, of him holding Malcolm hostage... that awful lecherous gaze and entitlement... Bianca knew it all too well. She had known it from the men whose eyes wandered her body, from the boys who catcalled her on the street, from the employer who stared at her chest during a job interview, from the guys who tried to grab her ass on the bus—Curtis was no different, even if he was a giant lizard monster.

 _A fuckboy is a fuckboy_. She gritted her teeth. _And I know how to deal with fuckboys._

With new determination, she stood and stretched as much as she was able. Upon finishing, she rammed her body into the side of the locker, causing it to wobble and tilt. She hurled herself again, the locker tipping ever so slightly more before settling. Taking a deep breath, she threw herself at full force into the side.

This time, the locker rocked sideways until gravity took over.

Bianca braced herself as the locker slammed into the one next to it, causing a domino effect. The loud thuds echoed around the room until all had settled, and she could only hiss in pain at being thrown into the ground so unceremoniously.

It took a lot of effort, but she managed to extricate herself from the bent-up prison. She crawled across the floor, pausing to stare at the dislocated counter Curtis had used to block her inside.

_Not anymore, asshole._

Rising shakily, she then limped over to the fire extinguisher, lifting it with trembling arms. She set her sights on the demolished doorway.

Cutis had better watch out.

Because no matter what he did, Bianca wasn't giving up anymore.


	39. No Weapons Allowed

The freight elevator swayed as it descended, the various gears and mechanisms creaking in protest. As frightening as this would have been on a normal day, Malcolm igno th damage—all he could think about was Curtis showing up again.

Hugging the steel rod against his body, he strained his ears for any sound of the monster. With an approaching crash, he tensed, but it was followed by receding thuds.

He glanced at the elevator's digital display, noting his progress—he still had several more floors to go before reaching the bottom. _Then what?_ Then... then maybe he could trap Curtis down there... perhaps...

Quite frankly, he didn't really have any game plan. All he had wanted was to lead Curtis away from the others, and as the seconds ticked by, the same fear arose—had Curtis decided just to leave him be and go after them? It continued to grow, causing tears to slide down his cheeks once more.

A shrill noise, however, brought him back to the present.

He held his breath.

‘ _Screech!_ ’

That sound... it was the sound of the external doors being opened into the shaft... but it was from below? Had Curtis gotten to a lower floor? And if so...

Swallowing, Malcolm inched into one of the elevator's back corners and raised the rod with shaky hands. _Any moment now_.

The contraption moved lower and lower.

He gripped the rod tighter, each second agony. A bead of sweat trickled down his brow, but he made no move to wipe it off. An unbearable tightness filled his chest. How much farther?

The digital display changed.

As those red numbers flashed, the elevator came to a jarring halt. It nearly knocked him off his feet. There was a click as the automatic locking mechanism kicked into place, and he regained his balance. He gaped in horror as the two opposing sides of the elevator doors began to separate.

Soon, those cruel, black claws Malcolm had come to hate appeared as they steadily widened the opening. Little by little, more of Curtis became visible—the reddish-orange eyes, the taunting grin, the huge shoulders—until finally, he had opened the doors as far as they would go. Releasing his grip, he grinned wider and lowered himself to enter the contraption.

Malcolm couldn't have screamed even if he had wanted to. All he could manage was a few teary whimpers as he held the steel rod higher. Though who was he kidding? It wouldn't make a difference

On the other side, Curtis seemed amused at Malcolm's display of bravery. His eyes roved over the unsteady grasp.

“Come on,” he laughed. “I thought we agreed—no weapons, right? ' _We fight like men'_ and all that jazz?”

He shuffled forward on all fours, and Malcolm shrank back even farther. _I don't know if I'd classify you as a man anymore..._

When he drew within striking reach, Malcolm jabbed the steel rod in warning.

Curtis chuckled. “Malcolm... can you stop for a moment? I just want to talk...” He raised a scaly hand, only to be met with another jab in response. As he pulled back, a brief flicker of distaste crossed his features before he sighed loudly. “Listen, while I am hurt that you’re so disapproving, it doesn't mean we have to do this.” He lowered himself a bit further as he crawled forward. “You don't have to like what I’m doing... I get that I’m never going to convince you. We can just agree to disagree, and then why don't we get out of this elevator and go our separate ways?”

“No, we can't! You're killing people!”

He groaned. “People who aren't you! I don't know many fucking times I have to say it—I don't want to hurt you... but if you’re going to be like this, then I might have to.”

Shaking his head, Malcolm cried out, “Stop making excuses... just... just stop!”

Again, Curtis sighed and tried to reach one clawed hand toward Malcolm's face. He recoiled, and Curtis frowned. “Look... I'm sorry you're so distrustful, but—”

“No, you're not! You're not sorry!” A sob tore out of his mouth. “Stop acting like you care about me when you clearly don't. This has always just been about you and what you want, and if I went along with it, then great! But the moment I do anything that's not part of your plan, anytime I have any opinion you don't like, then all you do is treat me like garbage. Well, I'm not putting up with it anymore. So you can shove your worthless apology where it belongs!”

He panted, hollow after venting so many pent-up emotions and grudges that had been festering for so long. But as the bizarre high from speaking his mind faded, that familiar terror sank in—holy cow, he was stuck with a very large, very _angry_ monster.

“Fuck you,” Curtis snarled. “You don't know shit!”

Malcolm screamed, swinging the steel rod as Curtis lunged forward. He gashed him in the shoulder, but Curtis just knocked the weapon away with one blow. Diving for the object, he scrambled to get a grip.

In retaliation, Curtis slammed him into the wall before he could reach.

Agony seared through his side at the impact. He crumpled to the floor, wheezing through cracked lips as an awful grinding noise filled the area. The next thing he knew, he was floating.

Because the floor had _dropped_ from underneath him.

The elevator plummeted several feet, tearing the scream out of Malcolm’s throat. Again, a grinding noise sounded, and the elevator came to a jarring halt once more. Throwing him against the floor, it rocked violently.

As unexpected as he found it, the drop caught Curtis entirely off guard. His lower half still stuck out of the elevator when it happened, and he slammed his face into the floor. The action dented it and sent the rest of him flying inside, his tail whacking the far wall while his body contorted.

Spitting out blood, he raised his head and hissed, “Ow! I bit my fucking thongue!”

For a second, the terrible scenario melted away at the phrase. It was such a Curtis thing to say, down to the inflection and wording, and Malcolm giggled in spite of his terror.

Curtis blinked at him and scowled. “What are you laughing at?”

This only made him giggle harder.

Curtis made a face as he shifted into a better position. “Seriously, what the fuck?”

“You just... you just...” Malcolm gasped, the tears rolling down his face from something other than fear for once. Now that Curtis was fully in the elevator, they were practically squished together, but he didn't care. “You fell on your face! You looked so stupid!”

“Shut up!”

Malcolm wheezed at Curtis' retort, pushing himself to his feet with the wall’s aid. “I can't believe that of all things, you'd get beaten up by an elevator!”

“And I’m going to rip you apart!”

Instead of crying at the comment, Malcolm shook his head in reply. “Well, you can do that... but then what? What did you accomplish? Heck, what are you hoping to accomplish at all?”

Curtis’s furious form recoiled. “What... what are you talking about?”

“You heard me.” Malcolm stared up at the pensive face. “You can kill me and leave this place, but it doesn't mean you'll win. Maybe you haven't been overpowered by the military yet, but that won't last forever.” He licked his lips. “They want to capture you, use you for experiments and stuff. They've been going easy on you. However, they'll come back with reinforcements. They'll keep hunting you down. No matter what you do, you will always either be fighting or running away.”

Curtis twitched his tail. “Stop trying to fuck with my head...”

“I'm just pointing out the obvious!” he exclaimed. “There is no scenario in which you come out on top! Best case, you live your life on the run. Worst case, you get captured or you die. That's it.”

Uneasiness flickered across Curtis’ face, and Malcolm whispered in astonishment, “You never thought about this?”

“Because I didn't want to!”

Malcolm jerked back as Curtis let out a shuddering breath.

“All I wanted was to stop feeling so fucking helpless with everything... just for us to get back at everybody...” Again, Curtis breathed deeply, the pain on his face evident. “And then you had to go and be difficult, and suddenly I'm alone again... having to watch you side with those assholes, people who never spared you a second glance...”

“They're good people... they honestly care—”

“I care!” Curtis shrieked, thumping his tail against the wall of the elevator shaft. “That's why it hurt so fucking much when you rejected me!” He swallowed deeply, and his voice cracked: “You’re literally the only person in this shithole of a town who means anything to me...”

For a moment, Malcolm couldn't say anything. All he could do was stare at the monster—who appeared to be on the verge of tears—and exhale slowly. _Take the bone away_. He gritted his teeth. _Don't let him have control over you._

Anger bubbled up inside of him once more, and he wanted to tell Curtis off, but something stopped him. As much as he would have liked to, as much as Curtis had hurt him, he still couldn’t solve his problems with a shouting match. Yes, Malcolm was hurting, and yes, he had every right to be mad... but what was screaming out his frustrations going to actually do? Maybe... just maybe... he needed another approach... some way to stand up for himself without resorting to ugliness.

The thoughts whirled and bounced inside of his head until his voice finally returned. “Curtis...” He placed one trembling hand on the huge face, prompting a flinch at the touch. “Look... I... I understand you’re hurting... and... I even kind of get why you wanted to... to do the things you did.”

Swallowing, he continued, “I... I'm still angry... about a lot of things... but... I don't know what's going on with you. I don't know everything about your life... and even after everything you did... I am sorry that you went through so much. I'm sorry I spilled the formula on you. You didn't deserve that.”

Curtis gave him a beleaguered look, and he breathed, “But those people didn't deserve being killed either. And... likewise, I didn't deserve all of the stuff you put me through, even before the formula.”

A few tears trickled out of Curtis’ eyes, dripping onto the floor. “No… you didn't,” he choked. “Sometimes I knew I was being shitty to you, but I did it anyway. I just...”

His gaze became unfocused and Malcolm watched him, holding his breath in anticipation for what he could possibly say next.

“You shouldn't apologize for everybody else. And... I'm sorry, Malcolm. I really am. But I guess it's too late now...”

“No, it isn't!” Malcolm leaned against Curtis while tears continued to seep out. “You're right that you can't change what happened, but you can stop hurting people! Nobody is forcing you to do this! And... and... and maybe... if you let yourself get captured... they can find a cure... something to turn you back to normal...”

“Malcolm...” Curtis gave him a weary look. “Even if they could change me back—which I really doubt—it wouldn't make anything better. Plus, I...” Letting out a gasping breath, he choked, “It wasn't like my life was going anywhere before this...”

“Curtis, don't say that—”

“There's nothing you can do.”

Curtis closed his eyes, and Malcolm clamped his mouth shut at the defeated expression. His heart sank as the dark scales encircling the lids melded together, closing him off from the emotions that lay within.

Biting his lip, he awkwardly hugged the huge face in front of him. “Maybe I can’t... but you can do the right thing,” he whispered. “You can end all of this.” A warm puff of air hit him as Curtis gave another shuddering breath. Malcolm closed his eyes, resting his cheek against the large forehead. “You can redeem yourself, atone for everything... it’s possible…”

His words elicited a tremble, and he leaned into the hug a little more. Better to embrace the silence; no reason to rush a response. 

Finally, Curtis murmured, “So you really think I should turn myself in?”

Malcolm nodded without opening his eyes.

“Just let them shoot at me and then take me to some hidden bunker to rot?”

This time, he jerked back at the anger in Curtis' voice. The monster had tensed, and his gaze held a mixture of emotions Malcolm didn't fully comprehend.

“That's your advice? Just take it like a bitch?”

He shook his head hurriedly. “Curtis, please—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Curtis reared up as far as the elevator would allow, and Malcolm nearly fell over, crying out as the monster roared, “You stand there and claim I make it all about me when your plan involves fucking me over!? You have the nerve to talk about me being shitty when all you do is lecture me all the fucking time!?”

“Curtis...” Malcolm was whispering now, but he didn't care, he was so scared...

“You want to know what I'm accomplishing, _Malcolm!?_ ” Curtis spat. “I'll tell you what I'm _accomplishing!”_

A cold surge gripped him as he dove for the steel rod, but Curtis was faster. He knocked Malcolm to the floor, slamming him into the hard surface. Pain shot through Malcolm’s face, and he lifted his head weakly, blood dripping from his mouth.

Monstrous eyes glinted at the sight.

From there, Curtis jerked Malcolm upright, eliciting from him a wet sob as his tears mixed with blood. He wanted to struggle against Curtis’ grasp but being thrown to the floor had wiped off the lotion. Now, with that and his amount of suffering, he could barely even move.

Above him, Curtis bared his teeth. “I'm not taking anybody's shit anymore. I'm done with that—forever.” His eyes narrowed. “Including you, you fat, guilt-tripping asshole.”

Again, Malcolm’s stomach lurched as Curtis hurled him to the ground. He coughed, shaking as every muscle screamed. The steel rod lay just a couple feet away, and he held his breath, reaching for it in vain.

He shrieked in agony after Curtis dug his claws into his sides.

Squeezing with just enough pressure to break the skin, Curtis sneered as Malcolm spasmed from the pain. “That hurts, huh?” He grinned at Malcolm’s flails. “What if I do this?”

The claws pierced a little deeper, rotating slightly, and Malcolm felt deafened by his own screams.

 _I'm going to die_. Tears streamed from his eyes. _I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to—_

The chain of despair ended with a loud ' _thunk!_ ' Curtis roared, releasing him from the razor-sharp clutch as he gasped and coughed. Sluggishly, he blinked up at the furious monster, who seemed to be trying to back up.

_What... what's happening...?_

“How the fuck did you get out!?” Curtis snarled. He tried to turn around but gave up after a few tries, as there simply wasn't enough room to permit the action. Instead, he swished his tail through the hole, a feminine voice screaming something above.

 _What... who's that?_ Every inch of Malcolm hurt, and while puzzled at the current development, pain and fatigue clouded his brain. Resting his head against the floor, he closed his eyes, his breathing growing less rapid as he relaxed.

Going to sleep... that sounded nice... couldn't hurt if you were asleep...

Another roar from Curtis startled him as his eyes shot open. The steel rod! It was right there, practically right in front of him!

Holding his breath, Malcolm forced himself to ignore his screaming limbs and crawl over to the weapon. He rose on shaky legs—flinching as pain pulsed through his left ankle—to face the distracted monster, who continued to scream obscenities at the individual outside of the elevator. Raising the rod, he prepared to attack when he stopped, indecision suddenly seizing him.

What the heck was he planning on doing?

The more he stared at Curtis, the more hopeless he felt. Since Curtis had literal _healing powers,_ even if he did cause damage, it would just get fixed right away. He’d die before doing any lasting harm.

_There's nothing I can do._

The sense of defeat further engulfed his brain. It grew so strong that he almost sat down when his ears suddenly popped from the pressure change. Wincing, he rubbed the side of his head, wishing it had happened sooner. He'd been so preoccupied that he hadn't even realized how uncomfortable they had been feeling. Stupid pressure change... yeah, it was important for many bodily processes, like getting air into the lungs, but still—

Wait. Malcolm paused, eyes fixated on Curtis' heaving chest. Air into the lungs...

 ** _“In severe cases of pneumothorax, such as a deep penetrating wound to the chest cavity, the lungs can even collapse...”_** A deep penetrating wound...

“ ** _So remember kids—if you get stabbed in the chest, go to the hospital right away. You can't shrug it off as easily as they do in the movies...”_**

Malcolm stared down at the steel rod in his hands, seeing it in a new light. It was crazy and improbable, but maybe... just _maybe..._ he could win this fight.

“All right, you bitch, I'll deal with you later!” Curtis snarled upward, coiling his tail around him. His gaze then returned to Malcolm. “Now,” he grinned nastily, “we can get back to— _argh!_ ”

He shrieked as Malcolm drove the weapon into his chest using every ounce of strength left. Roaring, Curtis knocked him into the wall once again.

Malcolm slumped to the floor, too tired to do anything but watch as Curtis pulled the rod out with a loud grunt.

Blood spurted from the wound, splashing onto the floor and joining the small drops and puddles that had already arisen from Malcolm's injuries. However, the whole spectacle didn't elicit much of a reaction from him. He was too exhausted, in too much pain...

The skin began knitting itself together on Curtis' chest, and he let out a raspy breath. “Good job, you—” He swallowed, closing his eyes as discomfort flashed across his face. Again, he wheezed, “You—” but couldn't finish as he took a great gulp of air. Or at least, he tried to.

From Malcolm's vantage point, the case of pneumothorax developing right in front of him was practically textbook. Air had rushed in when Curtis was stabbed and now lay trapped in his chest, preventing his lungs from expanding. Because his injury had healed, there was nothing his body could do to get rid of the excess—his healing power had actually screwed him over.

Coughing, Curtis shot Malcolm a horrified look, mouth opening and closing without any production of sound.

Malcolm didn't move. He just continued to watch the suffering creature.

Extending his neck, Curtis gave one last attempt to breathe as he swayed from side to side. The attempt was futile. With a loud crash, he collapsed to the floor, defeated.

Malcolm nearly bounced as the whole elevator rocked. The floor cracked, already damaged from Curtis’ earlier fall, and he stared, transfixed, as it continued to sink. Glancing at Curtis, he could only gape at the prone form.

From the looks of Curtis’ rapid chest motions, he still tried to properly breathe. However, he appeared to be down.

Forcing himself to move, Malcolm nearly cried out upon shifting his weight. His ankle throbbed constantly while pain seared through his midsection and pulsed at every point where Curtis' claws had pierced him. Gritting his teeth, he crawled over one of Curtis' arms. Every breath was miserable and agonizing as he rested, now panting. He lowered his head toward the floor but stopped and stiffened when the surface let out another sickening ' _crack!_ '

“Malcolm!”

The voice made him look up. He still wasn't underneath the hole, so he pulled himself onto Curtis' back, doing his best not to scream.

“Malcolm!” Bianca repeated. “Are you okay? It's so quiet. What happened?”

He opened his mouth to respond but found his throat too dry. Swallowing, he then wet his lips and croaked, “I'm alive, Bianca. I stabbed Curtis.”

“You—oh my God!” she sobbed. “Oh, thank God! Can you get out?”

He wriggled directly under the opening and stared upward. The distance seemed insurmountable at this angle. Bracing himself with both hands, he slowly rose to his feet despite the pain.

When he looked up again, he didn't feel any more hopeful. Because Curtis now lay down, he would have to pull himself up through the hole to get on the roof, and considering his current condition, there was no way he could manage.

“I can't pull myself up,” he whimpered.

The floor depressed further, and he shrieked as he nearly lost his balance.

“Okay, hang on then.” Panic was evident in Bianca's voice as she murmured, “I... I can get the steel cable... the one we used earlier... I'll lower it down so I can pull you up...”

“Hurry, Bianca!”

A few more cracks spiderwebbed across the surface of the elevator's base, and he gulped.

“Going,” she called, followed by the faint patter of running.

He almost crumpled before he sat down on top of Curtis, clutching one of the many puncture wounds in his side. _If I die, at least nobody else has to..._

_“Mal...”_

He jerked his head at the noise, mouth hanging open. Curtis had fixed Malcolm with one glistening eye, his features just as pained and tired as Malcolm’s own. With another shuddering breath, his eyes lolled before he glanced again at his back, a few tears trickling down his face. He looked _scared,_ and for a moment, pity welled up in Malcolm's heart.

“Hey, buddy,” he murmured, awkwardly rubbing the part of Curtis' back where he sat. “It'll be all right...”

_No, it won't._

He chased the thought away as Curtis lay his head back down, more tears dripping down his cheeks. The sight brought to the forefront a whole host of conflicting emotions, each nearly as agonizing as his broken body. He averted his gaze.

The floor caved steadily downward, and both Malcolm and Curtis dipped at an angle. Sweat beaded on Malcolm's brow as he glanced upward for Bianca's return. How much longer? _Please, Bianca..._

To his relief, the next minute her voice arrived, along with the steel cable.

“Grab on!” she yelled.

He obeyed, albeit after a couple of tries. Searing pain shot through his torso as he supported his weight, adding to the already present difficulty of his sweaty hands slipping on the braided surface. But eventually, he dangled precariously, hovering over the fallen form of Curtis.

“Okay,” Bianca panted, “I'm going to start lifting you.”

Slowly, inch by inch, he rose through the hole. He took one last look at Curtis' tear-streaked face, searing the memory of that terrified expression into his mind forever.

A few moments later, the floor cracked again. More and more cracks appeared, and then, all at once, it gave out. With a thunderous boom, the entire base of the elevator dropped. It sent Curtis tumbling down to the bottom of the shaft, the cacophony echoing all the way up several seconds after all was said and done.

 _Goodbye._ Malcolm squeezed his eyes shut as a few stray tears rolled down his cheeks.

Grunting and groaning, Bianca lifted him the last couple feet to drag him toward her, then pulled him off the roof. Both of them collapsed on the floor next to the shaft.

“Wow...” she panted. “That was... that was nuts.” She sat up as her face broke out in a smile. “You did it! I can't believe it, but you did it!” Holding out a hand, she helped Malcolm move to a sitting position.

“Yeah... I suppose...”

“You _suppose!?_ ” Bianca's eyes lit up as she laughed. “Malcolm! You're a hero!”

He didn't feel very heroic. Instead, he gazed at her form, frowning at a cut on her arm. “Your arm is bleeding.”

She nodded, grimacing. “A lot of you is bleeding.”

Wearily, he followed her eyes' trajectory. “Oh yeah... yeah, I am.”

“Well...” Bianca gave a slight smile and then wrapped her arms around him. “I... I am so happy you're okay... and even if you don't feel like it, you are a true freaking hero. You beat that asshole.”

“Yeah,” Malcolm choked, sinking into her embrace. His shoulders shook as she pulled away, concern filling her eyes.

“Malcolm?”

“I did beat him,” he whispered, tears flowing freely now. “I won, right? I won…”

“Oh… Malcolm!”

Again, she hugged him as he sobbed, letting out several days’ worth of horror and fear and regret and guilt. Bianca weathered the storm, and when his tears finally subsided, she helped him to his feet.

“Come on,” she whispered, giving him that lovely reassuring smile, even though there was a soft sadness in her eyes. “Let's get out of here.”

And with that, they trudged through the hallways of the abandoned Lab, the only sounds their footfalls and the sighs of their breath.


	40. Learning to Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the last chapter. Thanks to everyone who read. Hope you enjoyed this very weird story.

He’d only wanted to save Curtis when he walked in, not make everything worse.

Malcolm trembled, breathing hard, the nightmare still as vivid as the ceiling above him. It was still so much. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t meant to spill the beaker. Squeezing his eyes shut, he concentrated on the exercises his therapist had given.

_It is May 18th, 2018. I am in my room. I walked Cooper last night before watching TV and falling asleep. I am safe. It was just a dream._

Slowly, his breaths grew less sharp, and he managed to once again gaze at his bedroom ceiling. Back in the present, he grimaced at the perspiration clinging to his forehead and pajamas as he sat up. This had been a bad night.

Shifting the covers, he reversed his position, blinking in the dim light of dawn at the corkboard he’d hung above his bed. Memories and moments covered its surface, enough to force a smile on his face despite his increased heart rate. This was grounding. This was the now for which he’d always yearned.

He let his eyes wander across the various photos, forcing himself to focus on something other than his bad dream. Like always, he started at one of his favorites first—the potluck dinner.

A group of five beamed at the camera, surrounded by their favorite foods. His group. Besides the humans, the picture also featured several hungry dogs staring longingly at the bounty. Diesel, the rowdy gray Pit Bull, actually had managed to nab some.

Next, he moved to his moment of victory, the letter announcing the dropped charges after his pretrial with the Lab. Their attempt to scapegoat had backfired horribly when they had been audited. Embezzlement tended not to sit well with the IRS, and Malcolm doubted they would be coming after him or the rest of the group any time soon. Though he did pity all the workers who got laid off. At least Mom had managed to find another job.

To the right of the letter came the photo of Adam, hands on his hips, proudly showing off his prosthetic limb at one of their workout sessions. Malcolm grinned at the pose. While he had been devastated at the initial news of the limb loss, Adam seemed to have handled it well, even with the forfeit of football scholarships. Poor guy. Malcolm sighed, shaking his head. He would have been heartbroken, but Adam claimed the delay would be good in the long run, especially for his mom. Still, that was a lot on his plate, and he didn’t even get Bianca back. She had wanted friendship over romance, but it appeared to be working out. Maybe closure really was the cure for any leftover animosity. Or maybe a missing leg put everything into perspective—things don’t always work out the way you wanted, and that was okay.

The end of one relationship preceded the start of another. Malcolm moved on to the picture of Ethan and Chelsea, facing forward with the biggest of smiles. Everyone celebrated when the two decided to become official. Hearing them talk about one another always made Malcolm’s day—they were cute.

So was the girl in the next picture. The artist formerly known as Krystal grinned at the camera, showing off her newly unobstructed teeth. Mary had really come into her own despite the terrible time she’d had in the few months following Homecoming. A twinge of sadness touched Malcolm—he remembered the day he’d seen her walking home from school. Head down. Hunched. Was it late November? Yes, because he’d just gone to the medical symposium with Dr. Reeder. She’d cried on her couch, spilled her guts about the constant harassment she was receiving. All because of her tryst with Curtis. All because of things beyond her control. After Malcolm offered to exchange phone numbers, she and him had become fast friends. He understood her struggle. Even if he never divulged what happened to him.

Speaking of struggles, his pulse quickened as his eyes landed on the next photo. Brad. Shaggy, dark hair and a small cleft in his chin. Glasses framing his deep brown eyes. A smile that turned Malcolm into a regular at GSA meetings. Though he’d hesitated about joining for the longest time, seeing Brad had cinched the deal. That had been a pleasant surprise. Even more pleasant when they started talking. Then hanging out. Then awkwardly flirting. And then nothing more because Malcolm was a wreck and didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to handle this cute boy who shared most of his interests and liked him and was so patient and sweet even though he freaked out at the mere thought of kissing and—

Malcolm clenched his fists. He closed his eyes, bringing up the exercises. _Breathe. One, two three. Breathe. I am in my room. I am okay._

He felt dull when he returned to the corkboard. The pictures were still tiny tidbits of joy, but everything seemed muted after his reaction. His eyes traveled across experiences and smiles, across friends and memories, across everything he’d always wanted and hoped for, yet which still didn’t stop the panic every night. Which still didn’t stop the tears when he recalled that terrified face…

Against his better judgment, he paused at the newspaper clipping created after Chelsea’s transmission, the one he’d partially obstructed. There had been pictures of the body in the article, but he hadn’t included them. Only the headline: “ _SMALL TOWN, BIG MONSTER._ ” A headline that changed the fate of Wesley forever. A headline that reminded Malcolm of his perpetual dilemma—was Curtis nothing more than that? Had he been corrupted, or had he just revealed his true self?

His gaze passed along all the other photos. Everyone had been affected in some form or another, and he’d included the clipping to remind him of that. Even if no one else faced the same conflict he did, they still hurt.

Brad’s picture was the last one he looked at before he made his decision. He sat in front of his computer, scanning his desktop for a certain image. The silly photo taken on that strange, life-changing day. The one he’d never managed to delete no matter how many times he told himself he should.

Once it was printed out, he threw on some clothes. He accidentally grabbed an old pair of pants, too short and too loose since his growth spurt, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t like he would be seeing anyone as he went out.

Quietly, he stole out of the house, careful not to wake his parents. Blinking in the early morning light, he took a deep breath, taking in the serenity of the moment. Mom had recently replanted the gladioli due to the warmer weather, and one flower was already in bloom. Strange as it was too early in the season, but it had also bloomed not long after he’d left the hospital back in October. Nobody had any explanations. Secretly though, he liked to think it was for him.

The route was still familiar to him as he walked. Dew glistened on lawns and the houses steadily turned into apartment complexes. How long had it been since he’d gone this way? Over half a year, at least. He’d purposefully avoided it for a while.

Eventually, he stopped in front of one particularly decrepit building. Mostly abandoned now, considering the events that transpired within. Some even claimed it was haunted. The chipped brown paint looked far more sorry than it had ever been, and the weeds had gone from tenacious to choking.

He picked the vacant lot nearby, now a field, and gathered up some wildflowers. With the building to his back, he set his gathered bundle and printed picture of Curtis into a pile, forming a bizarre pyre.

“I am here today,” he murmured, “for the repose of the deceased, Curtis Henderson.” He bowed his head, a few tears creeping out behind his eyelids. “He... he wasn't a good person. But he had good moments... and I realize now... that... that... I had no idea what went through his mind. I... I have no idea what the nature of his character was, whether he was man or monster.” Shuddering, he wiped his nose.

“But for his sake and mine... I am going to choose to remember him as a boy—the horribly flawed boy who used to be my friend. I will never forget you, for all the times we shared, both good and bad. And my final gift to you, even though I know you can't hear me... is that I forgive you. I can't forgive you for anyone else, and I can't forgive your actions against others... but I forgive your actions against me. It's more than you deserve... but...”

His throat closed, and he choked out, “I just want you to stop haunting me. And I want you to know I wish... every _single_ day... that I could have saved you.”

Taking out a lighter, he sniffled a few more times before whispering, “Goodbye, Curtis.”

And with that, he set the picture and the flowers on fire, watching the smoke curl toward the sky.

He sat there with his head in his hands for some length of time, painful memories twisting inside his skull. It only ended when a soft meow made him look up. A gray and white cat wound around his form, rubbing its face against his legs. He couldn't help but smile faintly as he reached out to pet the animal. It purred and settled in his lap, allowing him to stroke its soft fur.

Several minutes later, the cat grew bored of him and ran off. Malcolm watched it with a pang of loneliness. His only companion now were the ashes beside him.

By mid-morning, he decided he'd been there long enough. He stood up to leave, thinking over Mom's words about the dog and the bone. Because she had been right, that it was necessary to stand up to someone. But there was another reason one needed to take the bone away—because if you didn't, then the dog would choke and die.

***

He was dismayed when he still woke from a nightmare the next day. As his breathing returned to normal, he took in his room, heart sinking. Why hadn’t it worked? It was graduation today, and he’d hoped to have a good night’s sleep in preparation. Instead, he was on edge and sweaty. Would he never feel normal?

Resisting the urge to cry, he turned around to face the corkboard. It was still there. Friendships started from tragedy, but friendships nonetheless. People who cared about him, who laughed and cried with him, who brought out the best in him. A wall full of hope and happiness and love.

Maybe he couldn’t fix things with just a few words. Maybe life took time to get better. Heck, for so many brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers, life was not better and they would argue it would _never_ get better. Tommy, Holly, and everyone else would never come back, and Malcolm doubted he would ever stop apologizing to them in his dreams. But that didn’t mean he had to live the rest of his existence in misery.

Instead, as he prepared for the day and adjusted his cap, unbidden positives managed to float to the surface of his mind. No matter what horrors happened, there were always people there to help—people who were consistently good despite circumstance or scenario, regardless of inner demons. And as he walked out to Chelsea's car, where she and Bianca and Adam and Ethan sat waving at him, he couldn't help but smile.

Because they were proof of it, and that was all that mattered.

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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